Road to Recovery
by cheride
Summary: When an undercover assignment goes bad and Mark is left fighting for his life, Milt begins to have second thoughts about their arrangement.
1. Chapter 1

_Road to Recovery- cheride_

_Rating: PG_

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators._

_**A/N:** First, thanks to all of you who have been reading my other stories. And, a double-thanks to those who have submitted reviews or dropped me an email. We all know that writing can be a very solitary experience, and I appreciate knowing that the work is actually reaching others from time to time._

_Second, this story is actually complete, though it may take a bit of time to get it all formatted and uploaded; just wanted to let you know._

* * *

Chapter 1

Milton Hardcastle jumped out of the ambulance and followed the paramedics as they went racing through the emergency room entrance. He was trying to stay out of their way, but he didn't want to be too far from their patient. He was a step behind them and fully intended to follow them into the trauma room, but he felt a firm grip on his arm and heard the voice that he would have preferred to ignore.

"Sir? Sir, you can't go in there. You need to stay out here."

Hardcastle wanted to argue with the nurse, wanted nothing more than to force his way into the small room that was filled with machinery, frantic medical workers, and a lanky, curly-haired kid who was lying much too still. But he knew that doing so would only distract the doctors from their work, and he couldn't allow that to happen. Not now. Not when he would give anything to ensure that they would be successful. He forced himself to turn away from the room.

"Is there anything I need to do?" he asked the nurse, mostly just to occupy his mind.

"There is some information we need to gather up at admitting," she replied gently, "if you feel up to it." She motioned down the hall away from the trauma room, trying to lead the judge to a less stressful environment. "You won't be far away, and they'll take good care of your son."

Hardcastle started to correct the assumption; "He's not..." but thought better of it. He was too distracted to really explain adequately, and it didn't matter anyway. He followed the nurse meekly to the admissions desk and began filling out the forms the attendant placed in front of him. He handed over his driver's license and insurance card. He reflected briefly that he was glad his agent had advised him to take out a business policy so that he could cover McCormick as an employee. Not that it would've mattered; he would pay any price necessary to get the kid back on his feet again. But experience told him it was always smoother with insurance. It was a crazy world when cash was not the preferred method of payment, but the vagaries of modern day economics were the least of his worries at the moment.

He was still signing forms when a familiar voice spoke from behind.

"Milt?"

Hardcastle turned to find Frank Harper standing behind him, his face lined with worry. He tried not to stare at the bloodstains on the detective's shirt, just as he had tried not to notice the similar discoloration on his own clothes. He shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Frank." He turned back to the seemingly endless stack of papers.

Harper didn't like the answer, and he certainly didn't like the horribly vacant expression in his friend's eyes. He looked around for someone to talk to. Spying a young man in scrubs, he walked over purposefully. "Is there someone in charge I could speak with for a moment?" he asked, flashing his gold shield.

"Um, yes, sir. I'll get Dr. Dovry. Wait just a moment, please."

The orderly returned just a moment later, leading a young woman wearing a white lab coat over her pastel colored scrubs. "I'm Doctor Elizabeth Dovry," she said, extending her hand. "I understand you wanted to speak with me?"

"Lieutenant Frank Harper, L.A.P.D," the detective answered, shaking the offered hand. "You're in charge this evening?"

"I'm the attending physician," she confirmed. "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"A young man was just brought in here a few minutes ago with multiple gunshot wounds, and...various other injuries. Mark McCormick is his name. I'd like to know how he's doing right now, and I'd like to be kept frequently apprised of his situation, if that wouldn't be too much trouble."

"Is he one of your officers?" Dovry inquired.

"Close enough," Harper replied. "He works with us; he's part of the family. And he was hurt in the line of duty."

She nodded her understanding. "Wait one moment, please, Lieutenant, and I'll see what I can find out."

Harper waited more or less patiently while Dovry disappeared down the hall and into the trauma room. There was a part of him that always felt a bit underhanded playing the 'line of duty' card, because if you asked him in a rational moment, he would say that trained medical professionals would always do their very best to save a life...regardless of whose life they were saving. But on the rare occasions—though they were never rare enough—when he had wounded officers to look after, the detective believed that the doctors and nurses might try just a little bit harder if they knew they were trying to save one of the good guys, and he was not above laying on that small amount of guilt if it had even the slightest chance of tipping the scales in his favor. And right now—as he looked back and saw one of his oldest and dearest friends numbly hand over one final piece of paper, then slowly shuffle to the indicated waiting area—he knew that he would do just about anything to make this night end well.

He tore his gaze away from Hardcastle as Dr. Dovry approached. "Well?"

"It doesn't look good," she replied honestly, though with deep compassion. "He's lost a lot of blood, and there's a lot of damage. But, they do almost have him stabilized enough for surgery, and they should be taking him up in just a few minutes.

"That _is_ a positive sign, Lieutenant. The operating room is exactly where he needs to be if he has any chance of surviving."

Harper nodded his understanding. "My friend and I," he jerked his thumb to indicate the stocky, white-headed figure slumped into one of the waiting chairs, "will stay down here until they move him. Will there be someone from surgery who can keep us informed once we're up there?"

"I'll make sure of it," she promised. The doctor glanced toward the waiting area. "You know," she added, "there really isn't anything you can do for Mr. McCormick right now. You should try to help your friend; he doesn't seem to be handling this too well."

"No, he's not," Harper agreed. "Thanks for the information, Doctor. I appreciate what your staff is doing." He offered her a tired smile, then turned and crossed the distance to Hardcastle.

Harper seated himself in the chair next to the judge. "They're gonna take him up to surgery soon," he said.

"Thanks for checking," Hardcastle answered dully. After a moment, he continued in the same lifeless tone, "You know, in the ambulance, they said they didn't think he'd make it to the operating room." He paused again, feeling his emotions raging. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "He's in bad shape, Frank."

Harper twisted to look at his friend. "Yeah, he is," he admitted, "but they're doing everything they can. He's in good hands, Milt."

"He shouldn't have to be in anyone's hands. If I had- -"

"Stop it!" Harper interrupted forcefully. "Just don't even start. You didn't cause this, Milt. No matter what happens, this isn't your fault."

"Easy enough to say," the judge replied without anger. "But you aren't the one who should've been there to stop this, and you aren't the one who sent him after that lunatic to begin with."

"Mark knew what he was getting himself into when he went after Garza. Hell, he knew what he was getting into when he signed up with you. He wouldn't blame you."

Hardcastle shook his head sadly. "This was never about Mark getting **_in_** to anything; it was about what he was getting **_out_** of. God, Frank, how many times have I reminded him that I could have him locked up with a snap of my fingers? He might bitch about going after someone, but he's not gonna refuse. That's always my ace in the hole, you know; he never wants to go back to prison. He'd rather die--" The judge broke off abruptly, horrified by the words coming from his mouth.

Harper placed a comforting hand on Hardcastle's arm. "It's been a while since this was just about staying out of prison, Milt, and you know it. It means more to him than that. **_You_** mean more to him than that. He wouldn't want- - -" Harper broke off as Hardcastle rose quickly to his feet. He held out a restraining hand as he noticed that the judge was half a heartbeat from charging down the hallway after the gurney that had reappeared and was now heading toward the elevator. The detective was relieved to see Dr. Dovry coming toward the waiting area and she was suddenly standing in precisely the place necessary to prevent Hardcastle from easily following the stretcher.

"Lieutenant," the doctor began, "I wanted to come speak with you both briefly." She looked at Hardcastle. "I'm Doctor Elizabeth Dovry," she introduced. "Lieutenant Harper asked to be kept apprised of Mr. McCormick's condition."

"And do you have any news?" Hardcastle asked, too numb to even think about introducing himself to the doctor.

"As you saw," Dovry continued, "Mr. McCormick is being moved to surgery, which is the best outcome we could've hoped for down here. The surgery ward is up on the third floor, and there's a family room just to the left as you exit the elevators.

"I've spoken with the attendant on duty up there, and she's going to make sure you get regular updates on the progress. However, he's going to be in surgery a long time, gentleman, and I would suggest you go home and at least clean up a little bit; it would be best if you actually got some sleep. It's late, and you both look like you could use a little rest. Mr. McCormick is in good hands. You did your job getting him here, now let us do ours. You can't help him right now."

"Is he going to live?" Hardcastle asked, completely ignoring the advice.

The doctor met his eyes. "I don't know," she admitted. "He's badly hurt. But we've got an excellent group of surgeons waiting for him; his odds of survival went up drastically just by getting him to them. Beyond that, I really couldn't speculate, and you shouldn't try to, either. Go home, get some rest, and there should be more news by the time you get back."

But Hardcastle knew that the news could be of McCormick's death, and if that horrible event should come to pass, he did not intend to be lying in bed pretending to sleep when the news came. He owed it to the kid to be here until the end.

"Thank you for the update, Dr. Dovry," Hardcastle replied. "I'll be up in the family room if anyone needs me." He turned to Harper. "Frank, you should go. It's late, and you still have a job to do tomorrow. Besides, Claudia will be worried."

Harper smiled gently. "I've already talked to Claudia and she sends you her love. She knows the drill, Milt, and she knows I'll be home when I can. As for the job, no one's going to mind if I spend some time here instead of there; I did put in quite a bit of overtime tonight, you know. Besides, my men are working on rounding up the last of Garza's gang, so the only thing I have to do is some paperwork, and I can do that here as easily as at my office." He clapped his friend on the arm. "You're stuck with me for a while, Milt, so you might as well get used to it."

Hardcastle managed a weak smile. "Thanks, Frank."

Harper waved it off, and spoke sincerely. "Now, I want you to let me drive you home for a while." He held up his hand to stop the immediate objection. "Not to stay, Milt, just to get cleaned up. A shower and fresh clothes will do you a world of good. Besides, you heard the doctor; Mark's going to be in surgery a long time. You can take some time for yourself."

The judge shook his head firmly, and started for the elevator. "I'm not leaving, Frank, not until I know he's okay or...not until I know." He repeated his earlier instruction. "But you should go."

Harper followed his friend immediately; he hadn't expected Hardcastle to agree to leave, but he'd had to try. "Let's get situated upstairs then I'll go round us up some coffee. It's probably going to be a long night."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Milt?"

Hardcastle raised his head quickly at the sound of his name, panic in his eyes; he hadn't intended to doze off. "Frank. What's wrong?"

Harper shook his head and patted Hardcastle's arm. "Nothing's wrong, Milt. There's no news. I brought you the clean clothes, remember?"

Hardcastle rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear his mind at the same time. "Oh, yeah. Thanks." He looked at the small duffel bag Harper placed at his feet. Why had clean clothes seemed important? They certainly didn't now. Still, he vaguely recalled that after several hours of sitting, Harper had felt the need to do something useful, so he had gone to gather some items for his friend. Neither man was very good at simply waiting.

"I talked with the head nurse," Harper continued, "and she says you can use the staff lounge to take a quick shower and change."

Hardcastle was going to object, but there was no real reason to simply sit here in bloody clothes. He was glad Harper had taken the time to change his own clothes, too. God knew, he didn't need any additional reminders of McCormick's fate. He grabbed the bag and rose slowly. "Okay, Frank; point me in the right direction."

* * *

****

"Mr. Hardcastle?"

The judge turned away from the window where he'd been watching the increasing traffic in the early stages of morning rush hour. Strange that the world outside seemed to be carrying on so normally when his world was slowly grinding to a halt.

Harper had been sleeping fitfully in one of the barely stuffed chairs, but he woke immediately at the sound of the doctor's voice. The detective rose to stand next to Hardcastle, and the jurist was grateful for the support. It definitely had been a long night.

"I'm Milton Hardcastle," the judge said to the approaching doctor.

"I'm Dr. Jackson," the doctor said by way of introduction. "I was on Mr. McCormick's team."

Hardcastle wasn't interested in social pleasantries. "How is he?"

"He's out of surgery," Jackson answered slowly, "and I think we can cautiously call the operation a success. But he's certainly not out of the woods yet."

"What exactly does that mean?" Hardcastle asked timidly, afraid of the answer.

Jackson relied on his years of experience to deliver his information professionally, undeterred by the horror of his words, though he had not yet learned to truly not feel. "He's been badly hurt, sir. I don't know if you are familiar with the extent of his injuries, but there were five different gun shot wounds, though it appears that not all of them were intended to be fatal. There were close to a hundred knife wounds of varying degrees of depth and damage, including several to his right shoulder area, which severed some tendons and could prove problematic. And, there was more damage than you might imagine from what appears to have been a repeated or sustained beating, including fractured ribs that punctured his lung." As Hardcastle's expression suddenly became even more concerned, Jackson hurried on. "It was a relatively minor simple pneumo- - -" The doctor broke off, reorganized his thoughts, then continued more gently, "The point, Mr. Hardcastle, is that we repaired his lung. But we'll leave him on a ventilator for a day or so, just to be safe."

Jackson paused again, then continued in the same gentle tone, "But even so, it was honestly something of a miracle he survived the operation; we almost lost him a couple of times. But he seems to be a fighter, and that's probably the best thing in the world right now. We repaired the damage that can be repaired; now we need to let his body heal. If he regains consciousness within the next seventy-two to ninety-six hours, I think he'll survive."

Hardcastle grated out the question he had to know. "And how likely is it he'll wake up?"

The doctor considered thoughtfully. This was always the question that needed answering the most, and it was the most difficult to predict. More than that, there was never a way to know how the loved ones would handle the answer, though Jackson thought this man seemed the stoic type. Not that that was necessarily a good thing. He met Hardcastle's eyes. "It's not likely, sir. As I said, he was badly hurt. A fifty percent chance is probably generous. I'm really sorry."

Hardcastle saw the room spinning slowly and felt Harper's steadying hand on his arm. He was sure the blood had drained from his face because he felt a sudden chill, and he certainly didn't feel like even an ounce of oxygen was reaching his brain. God...he couldn't even imagine what the kid had gone through. Those bastards had intended him to die slowly and painfully, and it was impossible not to consider that they might still get their wish.

"I want to be with him." He hadn't made a conscious decision to speak, but when he heard the words coming from his mouth, he felt his balance begin to return. As long as there was something to do—even if it was just more waiting—he could stay focused. He didn't want to think about what he would do when it wasn't necessary to wait any longer.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** The first of a few flashback sequences appears in this chapter. I would like to have offset those passages, but, of course, indentation isn't really possible, and I didn't like the way the dialogue looked centered. So, I have settled for _italics_, with the flashback preceeded and followed by dashes. ( - - - - )

* * *

Chapter 3

Hardcastle sat in the darkened room, silently staring at McCormick's unmoving outline beneath the sheet. The slight rise and fall of the chest was the only indication that life remained in the body, and the judge knew that even that tiny movement could cease if McCormick was removed from the tubes and hoses running into his body. The nurses in Mark's room had offered further assurance that the assistance would only be necessary for a short time, but he understood that wasn't a guarantee of recovery; the machines would be removed in a few days...one way or the other. But, the doctors were confident they had repaired the damage to McCormick's organs, including his lungs, they just wanted to give his body the opportunity to heal without the stress of functioning at full capacity.

So, McCormick had been attached to a myriad of machines to help the recovery process, and the sight chilled Hardcastle to his soul. For such a young man—especially one so normally full of life—to be lying here in this condition was an abomination, and Hardcastle was consumed with the injustice of it all. And, more than that, the judge was consumed with guilt. In his lifetime, Hardcastle had lived through many tragedies, and he knew that a certain amount of guilt was unavoidable. Regardless of the circumstances, a survivor would always wish they could have done more—done anything, really—to prevent the loss they lived through. Often they would even feel guilty for actually surviving when others did not. Hardcastle knew all of this, and he knew it from first hand experience. But this was different. This time, his guilt was warranted, for this was a tragedy he had created.

What had he been thinking when he decided to embark on his retirement project? What made him think he could do what an entire legal system could not? How could he have been so arrogant? And how could he have been so irresponsible? At least _he_ understood the risks. He'd been trained as a soldier and a police officer; he could take care of himself. When he had decided to use an ex-con as his partner, why had he not realized the dangers? Or, even worse, had he realized and dismissed the concern because a criminal was expendable?

He considered the idea carefully. But, no, he didn't really think that was the case; he did have a strong respect for the sanctity of life. But here, in this shadowy room, silent except for the eerie beeps and hums of medical technology, the judge had nothing to do but reflect on his behavior. And it bothered him to discover he wasn't all that proud of himself.

If anyone had ever asked him to elaborate on his relationship with McCormick, he undoubtedly would have answered that the kid was damn lucky to have the chance to work with the Honorable Milton C. Hardcastle. Oh, he would've admitted that McCormick had some good qualities. And he probably would've even confessed to an unexpected fondness for the young man. But mostly, he would've said that without his presence, McCormick would be sitting in a cold jail cell by now, and the kid should be grateful the judge had been willing to save him from himself.

Hardcastle knew that's how he would have answered because that's the way he felt. Or at least, that's the way he had allowed himself to feel. And, he could clearly see now that those feelings had come through loud and clear in every interaction he had ever shared with the kid.

He sighed heavily and leaned his head back against the chair. When faced with the realization that he had always acted a little—or maybe a lot—superior to McCormick, he was surprised the kid had put up with him as long as he had. It hadn't quite been a year yet, but it occurred to him now that the time may have seemed eternal to McCormick. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer that he would have the chance to do better.

"Any change?"

Hardcastle turned to face the voice. "No, Frank, no change. But I thought we agreed you would go home tonight?"

Lieutenant Harper pulled an empty chair in front of Hardcastle and dropped into the seat. "Actually, I think you ordered me home; I'm not sure there was ever an agreement."

Hardcastle managed a small smile. "You could be right about that. But you were here last night for the surgery and most of the morning, then went to work. You need to take care of yourself. Go home. There's nothing you can do here anyway."

"There's nothing you can do, either," Harper countered, "but you're still here. Besides, technically, I'm still working. The brass wants an official statement from you, so I thought I'd come down here and save you from the bureaucracy."

The tired blue eyes flashed with a sudden anger. "You're joking. They want a statement? Well, my statement is that if the people who were being paid to keep the criminals off the streets could do their jobs properly, then civilians wouldn't have to be picking up the slack, and McCormick wouldn't be laying over there, hooked up to every contraption known to man, fighting for his life. Go ahead and type that up, and I'll sign it in triplicate."

The officer simply stared silently at his friend, waiting for the anger to pass. It didn't take long.

"I'm sorry, Frank," Hardcastle said with a heavy sigh. "None of this is your fault. What is it that you want to know?"

Harper shook his head slightly. "Don't worry about it. I told you I came here to save you from the bureaucracy, not be a part of it. When you feel up to it, you can tell me what happened with Garza. In the meantime, I certainly know how to stall the brass."

"Nah, that's okay. You have a job to do, and I'm not doing anything, anyway. We might as well talk about it now."

Hardcastle took a breath. "Okay. You know Garza's history—robberies of every shape and size, but mostly bank jobs. And, I'm pretty sure he killed one of his guys about ten years ago. But the only thing we ever nailed him for was a small string of burglaries a few years back.

"Anyway, I get this call one day—an anonymous tip that Garza's getting ready to pull a series of heists soon; that he's putting together a team."

"Why would someone call and tell you that?" Harper asked.

Hardcastle shrugged. "Who knows? Professional rivalry? Someone with a grudge? Hell, maybe just a concerned citizen with information. I don't know.

"Anyway, I dug out the file and figured we'd try to get this guy once and for all. But when I mentioned it to McCormick, he wasn't so keen on the idea. Turns out he knew Garza from prison..."

- - - - - - - - - -

"_Tony Garza, huh, Judge? What'd he ever do to end up in the Hardcastle cross-hairs?"_

_"He's only stolen just about everything you could ever think of, hotshot. That, and he probably blew away one of his goons one time. Rumor has it the guy shorted Garza after a heist. I guess you don't get to do that with ol' Tony."_

_McCormick grinned. "Probably not. He's kinda crazy. But, on the other hand, Judge, he's not always such a bad guy. Why are you worried about him now?"_

"_Some guy called today and said Garza's about ready to go back into business. Said he's looking for a few people to help him out. You've been bored with the yard work lately; I thought you might want to apply for the job."_

_McCormick looked up sharply. "You want me to work with Tony Garza?"_

"_Sure, why not? I didn't know you knew him. That should make it easier to get inside."_

_"It's not like we were buddies, Judge; I only knew him in passing. But I did know him well enough to know I don't want any part of this."_

"_What's the matter? You don't want to be the one to send your old friend back to camp? I thought you worked for me now?"_

_McCormick frowned. "This isn't about wanting to protect Garza, Hardcase, this is about wanting to protect me. I told you, he's crazy. He seems all fine and good most of the time, but then something happens and he just snaps. Usually he just goes into this weird kind of frenzy with a lot of screaming and yelling and not really making a lot of sense. But a couple of times I saw him just beat the hell out of some guys. Then, after a little while, it's like he gets it all out of his system and he's back to normal. And he just blocks out whatever just happened. Maybe he really forgets it, I don't know, but he won't talk about it, even if you try. It's like it never happened. It's kind of creepy._

"_I'm telling you, Judge; he's unstable, and we should leave this one to the professionals."_

"_Don't be such a baby, McCormick," Hardcastle grumbled. "I'm not asking you to pick a fight with him. I just want you to go in and get some information so we can figure out what's going on and put this guy back where he belongs."_

"_Judge..." McCormick began to object again, but the look in Hardcastle's eyes stopped him. He had come to think of it as the judge's 'hunter' look, and it meant someone was going to jail. He would certainly rather it be Garza than him, so he kept the rest of his fears to himself._

_McCormick sighed loudly. "All right, Judge, you win. As always. So what do you want me to do? Call him up out of the blue? 'Hey, Tony, long time no see. Got a job for me?'"_

_Hardcastle grinned and shrugged slightly. "Why not?"_

_- - - - - - - - - - _

"And that's how this whole nightmare started, Frank. You wanna tell me again how this isn't my fault?"

"Milt," Harper began softly, but Hardcastle interrupted.

"From the beginning, Frank! The kid told me from the beginning it wasn't safe, but did I listen? No. I had to have it my way; had to prove that Milton Hardcastle is the one in charge." He buried his face in his hands and spoke in a muffled voice. "If he doesn't wake up, how will I ever tell him how sorry I am?"

Harper stared at his friend, unsure how to give the comfort he needed. "Just how many times has Mark actually agreed with you on something?" he finally asked.

Hardcastle looked up at the unexpected question. "What?"

"How many times has he just said, 'Sure, Judge. Whatever you think.'?"

"Not nearly enough," Hardcastle grouched, then felt immediately guilty for the sentiment.

"But then he always does what you want, right?"

Hardcastle sadly nodded his agreement. "More or less. What's your point?"

"My point, Milt, is that Mark arguing about Garza was par for the course. There was no way you should've been expected to think anything about it because it was so damned typical. Hell, I doubt if even **_he_** really gave it a second thought. He was probably just arguing on principle, not because he truly had any problem with the idea."

Hardcastle smiled slightly. "Well, I certainly wouldn't put that past him." The smile fell from his face. "But I still wish I had paid more attention, maybe asked a few more questions."

Harper shook his head. "Milt. I don't know how to get through to you... You have to let this go. If Mark wakes up and finds you moping around like this, he'll kick your ass. And probably mine, too, for not making it better."

Again the detective succeeded in putting a smile on the judge's face. "Well, he could try."

"Right," Harper laughed.

"Okay," Hardcastle continued. "I'm all right now; we can go on. So, anyway, McCormick contacts Garza and they arrange a meet, and it goes pretty well..."

_- - - - - - - - - - _

"_It wasn't so much an interview as an audition. Garza didn't want me to **tell** him what I could do; he wanted me to **show** him. He had me break into his office, crack two different safes, and boost three of his cars. All the while, he's talking to me and trying to distract me, and timing me. Can you believe that?" McCormick grinned. "Of course, he was terribly impressed with my abilities."_

"_No doubt," Hardcastle replied blandly. "What else?"_

"_Then we had a nice little talk about you—he's not your biggest fan, by the way—and I spun him the tale. Told him all about the nice little gig I've got going here, and how you're so blinded by my charm that you can't see the con I'm running. Told him that every once in a while I might even be able to get him some inside information that would be helpful to him."_

_Hardcastle shook his head. "I can't believe he would fall for that. I still think we would've been better off going with the idea that we had a falling out and you're suddenly on the run."_

"_Yeah, but then I end up having to live in some dive of a motel while we work this case, it's hard to meet up with you to give you information, and it just basically sucks. This way, I get to come home, no one thinks a thing about me sitting here on the patio having a conversation with you, and I get the added bonus of telling someone what a donkey you are."_

"_Taking the easy way out doesn't usually work out so well, McCormick. Besides, you've been here almost a year now. Does Garza really think in all that time I wouldn't have figured out what was going on?"_

_McCormick laughed. "Judge, you gotta think about this from someone else's point of view. This little arrangement we've got here is just plain weird, and you know it. No matter which side of the law you're on, it's easier to believe that I've got some ulterior motive...even beyond staying out of prison. Hell, half the people you know think I'm scammin' you, why wouldn't the people I know think the same?" _

_Hardcastle thought for a moment. The kid almost had a point. It was actually the logistical argument that had caused him to allow McCormick to try out his own version of the cover story, but he still couldn't get over the idea that no one would fall for it for long. Besides... "My friends don't think you're scammin' me, kiddo."_

"_Some of them do," McCormick contradicted with a smile, "even if they won't say so to you. But that's okay. A lot of them don't, and that makes up for it. But listen, don't you even want to know if I got the job?"_

"_McCormick, the way you've been sitting here with the Cheshire Cat grin all over your face regaling me with tales of your criminal aptitude, I just assumed you got the job. If you tell me now that Garza booted you out on your butt, I'm going to be sorely disappointed."_

_McCormick laughed again. "You won't be disappointed, Judge. I gotta go back tomorrow to meet the rest of the team and start learning my part of the plan. I don't know any details yet, but it sounds like he's planning on moving pretty quickly."_

"_Good," Hardcastle answered. "The less time you have to spend with him, the better."_

"_I thought you weren't worried," McCormick reminded him._

"_Just playing it safe, McCormick. You are in my custody, you know. It looks bad if I let anything happen to you."_

_- - - - - - - - - - _

"I don't know why I can never tell him the truth, Frank," Hardcastle complained. "I should've just said 'be careful', but, no. I always have to be so cool and aloof about everything."

"He knows you pretty well by now, you know. He understands even when you don't say it."

"I guess you're right." Hardcastle moved quickly back on topic. "Anyway, he comes home the next day, grinning like some schoolboy home from the best field trip ever. I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd think he was actually enjoying the time he spent with Garza. They were planning some pretty fantastic string of robberies, from the sound of it." He paused, and studied Harper. "What's with you?" he asked, seeing a slightly pained expression cross the detective's face.

"Nothing," Harper answered. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure, you just seemed a little...I don't know...worried, or something. For just a minute. What's going on?"

Harper shook his head. "Nothing," he repeated. "I was just thinking about Mark. Go on with what he found out with Garza."

Hardcastle cast a final, speculative look at his friend, then continued. "Anyway, Mark spent a few days with Garza, preparing. He was getting lots of details on what he would be expected to do, but nothing about actual targets; Garza was keeping all that to himself until the last minute. Mark and I spent some time going over different maps of the city trying to piece it together from some of the entry and exit information Garza had shared, but we weren't having much luck.

"Then, after the third day, I guess, McCormick said he thought Garza had an inside man somewhere. Someone who could help him with a lot of different types of financial facilities, not just one bank, or something. He didn't have a name, but he said he had the impression Garza had known him for a long time, and that he might be some kind of cop, or something like that."

"So that's how you found out about that treasury agent, Walton?" Harper interjected.

"Yeah. Turns out Walton was working a case way back when Garza was a kid, and that's how they hooked up. I don't really know too many of the details about that; I might like to talk to Walton sometime, though."

"How did you know about his connection to Garza's juvenile case?" Harper demanded. "The feds barely told me about that. I musta had about half a dozen lawyers in my office telling me why we couldn't open his sealed records."

Hardcastle paused thoughtfully. He wasn't in the habit of lying to his friends, but he was not about to tell Harper how McCormick had gone creeping into the court records office late one night and made copies of every scrap of paper he could find with Garza's name on it, including the sealed juvenile records. He opted for an indirect answer.

"It's only a problem if you want to use Garza's juvie record as evidence against him, you know. You can use the information to corroborate a case against someone else, as long as no detriment comes to the original defendant."

"So the department legals finally said," Harper replied. "But you didn't really answer my question. It seems a little strange that Garza would let the name of his primary contact slip, even to McCormick. And it makes no sense that he would tell him how they came to be acquainted. So how did you find out about the juvenile case?"

Hardcastle grinned mischievously. "I have my sources, you know," he said mysteriously, and would say no more. Not because he thought Harper couldn't be trusted—he would trust the detective with his life...and probably even McCormick's life. But he would not put his friend in the position of concealing an actual crime. Bad enough the kid had truly committed the felony...it didn't need to be compounded by leading a good police officer away from his sworn duty.

But Harper had known the judge a long time. "What aren't you saying?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what sources do you have that would give you access to sealed records that even the L.A.P.D. had to jump through hoops to get?"

Hardcastle shrugged. "You know the drill, Frank: Never reveal your informants, and all that."

"Yeah, right," Harper snorted. He thought for a moment. "I'll tell you what I think," he said slowly. "I think your informant is laying over there in that bed, and you're not giving him up because you know when he comes to he'd have an awful lot of explaining to do."

The judge shrugged again. "He is the one who started me asking the right questions," he replied, "so I guess I'll have to give him credit for that. But otherwise- - -" Hardcastle broke off as the door swung open slowly.

"Lieutenant Harper?" an orderly inquired as he stepped just inside the room.

"That's me."

"They asked me to let you know your delivery is here, sir."

Harper grinned at Hardcastle as he rose from his seat. "Saved by the dinner bell, Milt. I ordered us pizza." He followed the orderly back toward the nurse's station without waiting for a response.

Grinning slightly, Hardcastle reached out and patted McCormick's arm. "That was close, kiddo. Lucky for you Frank likes you." Then he turned his attention to making room on the small bed table for pizza.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Mark McCormick was sure he was in prison. He knew he had to be because no place else could make him feel so helpless. And, he did vaguely recall doing something that had really angered Judge Hardcastle, so prison seemed the logical assumption. But it seemed different somehow...why was it so dark? Some kind of solitary confinement? He must've really pissed off old Hardcase this time.

Still, his mind argued with the assessment. He didn't really think he could be in prison, and not just because he didn't _want_ to be in prison. Like it or not, Hardcastle was part of the equation. The judge wouldn't really put him back inside...would he? God knew, he had threatened often enough, though it had never been more than talk. McCormick thought he would have to do something pretty awful to make Hardcastle finally carry out one of his threats. But maybe he had? He couldn't imagine what, though he did have a lingering sensation of anger and accusation. But...

_What was that?_

McCormick focused all his attention on his black surroundings. Hardcastle's voice, he was sure of it. And, the judge didn't sound angry any more. Whatever was going on, Hardcastle would take care of it, McCormick was certain. Comforted, he drifted back to unconsciousness.

* * *

"I thought he might've been coming around there for a minute," Hardcastle said as he took his seat again.

Harper shook his head sadly. Whatever had prompted the judge to jump to McCormick's side, he had missed it...if it was ever really there at all. The last two days had been hard on his friend, and the lieutenant didn't know how he was going to help if things got worse.

* * *

McCormick sensed his helplessness again. Still so dark. And he still couldn't move. He felt like he was trapped in some kind of congealing marshmallow sauce, though no marshmallow sauce should be this black. _Unless they were burned in the campfire_, he thought. He wanted to grin at his flighty thoughts, but he didn't think he couldn't move the muscles in his face, either.

_Am I dead?_

He recoiled from the thought. Couldn't be. Hardcastle wouldn't let that happen, not so soon. But then he remembered hearing the judge's voice in this strange place. If that were true, would that mean that Hardcastle was dead, too?

In his mind, he raged against the idea. _No!_ It couldn't be; that wouldn't be fair. The judge deserved a lot more years of life and happiness. Even if they were here together, McCormick didn't want that for Hardcastle. His friend had to be alive. Any other thought only led to madness.

Unable to deal with the emotions whirling through his mind, McCormick allowed the darkness to engulf him again.

* * *

"Why's he crying?" Hardcastle demanded, wiping at McCormick's face gently. Only a few hours earlier, the doctors had decided that the ventilator was somehow causing their patient distress rather than relieving it, so they had removed the intubation tube from his throat and replaced it with a small nasal tube just to keep the pure oxygen flowing into the young man. McCormick had seemed to breathe normally on his own, and Hardcastle had been glad to see the larger tube removed because it seemed to make McCormick look more like himself. But now...how could someone unconscious seem so unhappy?

"I don't know, Judge," the nurse admitted, "but try not to make too much of it. We don't have a really good idea of what goes on in someone's mind when they're unconscious like this."

"But it's a good sign, isn't it?" Hardcastle insisted, desperate for affirmation. "I mean, he must be thinkin' something if he's crying. Right?"

The nurse chose her words carefully. "He probably is thinking something, somewhere. But, Judge Hardcastle, it's never been a question of whether or not his brain would recover—that's not where the damage lies. It's a question of waiting on his body."

The answer was filled with compassion. As much as family members wanted their loved ones to regain awareness, she knew they hated to think of them trapped inside a motionless—almost lifeless—body. But, she believed that those who asked questions needed to know the answers in order to cope, so she could never be less than honest.

She gave a gentle squeeze to Hardcastle's arm as he continued to wipe the tears from McCormick's face, ignoring those on his own.

* * *

Mark McCormick could see the den at Gulls Way. _That doesn't make any sense,_ he thought, as he realized he still couldn't seem to move and it was darker than it ever was at the house. How could he be at two places at the same time?

Maybe he was neither dead nor incarcerated, but just plain crazy. It was certainly possible, he admitted to himself, and it would explain a lot. Maybe they had him in some kind of straightjacket in a padded room. Great. Crazy _and_ locked up. Could it get any better?

But why the den? He'd like to think if he was having demented fantasies they'd be better than _that_. On the other hand, this dark place was terrifying. Was there any place he'd rather be than the bright, familiar comfort of home? Probably not.

Then, suddenly, he could see himself in the den, along with the judge. _Wishing makes it so,_ he thought giddily, immediately followed by, _Really **am** crazy._ But he gladly gave himself over to the illusion he couldn't yet recognize as memory...

- - - - - - - - - -

"_Sorry I'm so late, Judge, I know that wasn't in the plan. But you can't always count on the criminal mentality making a lot of sense."_

_Hardcastle glared at the grinning ex-con. "You talking about Garza now?" he snapped. "Or yourself?"_

_The grin faded. This conversation was going to be more difficult than he had imagined. "I meant Garza, Hardcase. But..."_

"_But what, McCormick?"_

_How anyone could put so much threat into so few words was a mystery to McCormick, but he heard it just the same. He swallowed hard and plunged ahead. "Garza had me pull a job today, Judge."_

"_He what?"_

"_We knew it would happen," McCormick began._

"_What we knew, hotshot," Hardcastle interrupted, "is that he would **ask**. You were supposed to find a way out of it."_

"_Judge, if you send me in undercover as a criminal, I think maybe you should be prepared for a little crime," McCormick said in his most reasonable tone._

"_Oh, that's what you think, is it?" Hardcastle's tone clearly indicated that he was not in agreement. "Tell me about the job."_

_McCormick didn't hesitate. "It was some kind of financial holding facility down on Market street. That Walton guy must have the security information down pat on these places. I went in, got the cash from the safe, and got out. And, Garza had me boost a couple of cars for our travel to and from."_

"_So, let's see...we've got breaking and entering, grand larceny, and multiple counts of grand theft auto. And that's added to the B&E down at the court records office the other day. It's been quite a week for you, hasn't it, McCormick?"_

_McCormick grimaced as he dropped into the chair. He hadn't expected the conversation to be quite this difficult. And, he hadn't even managed to tell the judge about how he'd screwed up with Garza. He needed to pull out of this case, but how was he supposed to say that now? He realized Hardcastle was still speaking._

"_I said, did you get paid?"_

"_Oh, yeah." McCormick reached into his jacket, pulled out an envelope, and tossed it at the judge._

_Hardcastle looked through the bills, then looked up at McCormick. "How much money was in that safe?" he asked._

_McCormick glanced up sharply at the unexpected tone. He was not accustomed to suspicion from the judge. "I don't know," he answered. "A lot."_

"_And you only got twenty five hundred?"_

"_I'm just the hired help, Judge," McCormick said peevishly, "and I'm new help at that. I just figured Garza was a graduate of the Milton C. Hardcastle school of slave wages."_

_Hardcastle didn't intend to be led into their typical banter. "You're sure this is all of it?"_

"_What do you mean?" McCormick demanded, more hurt than angry._

"_I mean, are you sure you wouldn't be trying to get yourself a little bonus?"_

_McCormick stiffened in his chair. "Judge, that envelope is a year's salary working here with you and it took me about an hour to earn it. If I was looking for a bonus, I woulda just kept it. Or," he added hotly, "maybe I just wouldn't have come back at all." He rose and started for the door._

"_Where do you think you're going?" Hardcastle snapped._

"_To bed, Judge, unless you plan on taking me to jail. If you want me to keep working this case, Garza expects me at his place bright and early tomorrow morning." McCormick almost hoped Hardcastle would tell him to pull out, even though it would be for all the wrong reasons. He shouldn't go back in and he knew it, but he wouldn't have Hardcastle thinking he was backing out because he'd changed his mind about which side of the law he wanted to be on. What had gotten into the old donkey, anyway? He had expected to have his common sense questioned, but never his integrity._

_McCormick stood paused for a brief moment, but when the judge didn't answer, he stomped up the small steps and out of the house, slamming the door behind him._

_- - - - - - - - - -_

* * *

Hardcastle stood nervously at McCormick's bedside, seeing the tension written on the unconscious form, but not knowing why or how to ease it. After almost three days of endless waiting, the last ten hours or so had been a new kind of torture for the judge, as McCormick displayed more and more signs of awareness but still never regained consciousness. It was bad enough the kid was barely alive; he hated to think of him trapped in some kind of private hell where no one could reach him to offer help. Especially, he reflected bitterly, since their last words had been filled with anger.

What had he been thinking, anyway? He knew McCormick would never go back to any kind of criminal life, so why had he implied otherwise? Of course, he knew the answer. He had just been so scared when Mark was late returning from his rendezvous with Garza. And, he admitted to himself, he had still been angry about the little stunt at the courthouse. The kid really was going to get himself thrown back into prison if he wasn't careful. But none of that was justification for the way he had reacted. He had simply let his fear turn to anger when McCormick had returned safely, and then he had said a lot of truly stupid things. As it turned out, he'd had reason to be worried, and he wished now he'd spent more time on precautions and a hell of a lot less on accusations.

Unable to do more, Hardcastle simply took McCormick's hand into his two larger ones and clasped it with a gentle firmness. "I'm here, kiddo," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm here and I won't let anything else hurt you." He spoke to the silent form in a gruff but soothing voice until he could feel his friend begin to relax.

**

* * *

**

McCormick could feel the marshmallows again. How he wished he could escape this place. Why hadn't the judge gotten him out yet? Surely Hardcastle didn't still believe he'd sold out? He would never know if he didn't get out of this darkness, though he thought briefly he might prefer this strange place to a world where Hardcastle didn't trust him.

Again he willed himself to focus his attention. He needed to understand what was happening. _Oh!_ There was the judge's voice again. He tried to make out the words. Maybe he couldn't get out of here until he understood what Hardcastle was trying to tell him. That didn't make a lot of sense, he knew, but neither did this strange darkness.

He sent his mind out in search of clues, but he couldn't find much. But Hardcastle's voice wasn't fading, and there was a warm feeling in his left hand. He struggled to make sense of the words.

"...Frank's been here a lot; you know, he's really worried. About us both, I think, though it's you he always asks about. Bet you never thought you'd see the day when a cop was sitting worried by your bedside, did you, kiddo? Much less a judge! Anyway, I finally made Frank leave for a while this morning, but he'll be back. I hope when he comes he brings something to eat 'cuz the food is terrible in this place. When you wake up you're gonna hate it here."

Hardcastle's voice broke. "When are you gonna wake up, McCormick? C'mon, kiddo, there's stuff I need to tell you, and it won't do any good if you're sleepin'." Hardcastle squeezed McCormick's hand gently. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. I never meant for you to get hurt. I never even meant for my stupid insults to hurt your feelings, either. I can't believe you won't even wake up to say I told you so. I know you weren't really working with Garza, Mark, and I've always known it. I shouldn't have yelled at you like I did. Maybe if I didn't things would've been different somehow. I don't know. But I do know that I'm sorry, and I'd do anything to change what happened. I just wish..."

As Hardcastle's voice carried on, McCormick could feel himself slipping back into the darkness, but he didn't want to go. He knew the judge would be gone if he drifted deeper into the marshmallow thickness, and he didn't want to be alone. Besides, Hardcastle seemed so upset. He might not understand much of what was happening, but he didn't want the judge to be sad. And, he didn't want him to feel guilty, either. Whatever had happened to send him to this terrible, dark place, he was sure the judge wasn't to blame.

He marshaled all of his strength and tried to cling to Hardcastle's voice.

"Not...your...fault...Judge," he managed to say. At least, he _thought _he said it. He _tried_ to say it. But he didn't hear the words come out. Maybe he really was dead. He felt the darkness pulling him back, even as he tried to fight it. Then suddenly, he heard Hardcastle's voice again, closer now, and filled with urgency.

"Mark? I said, can you hear me?" At the first whispered word from McCormick, Hardcastle had leaned his face next to McCormick's to hear the precious sounds. He kept that closeness now and spoke directly in the young man's ear.

"I'm right here, kiddo, so stay with me. C'mon, that's enough sleeping now, even for you. Don't leave me again; I'm tired of talking to myself all day. Come on, kid, I need you to come back to me now."

McCormick could feel the affection as the judge stroked his hair gently, and he could hear the concern in Hardcastle's voice as the jurist tried to pull the younger man toward consciousness. How could he have ever believed this man would doubt him? He wanted to offer his own reassurance in return.

"No...hedges today...okay, Hardcase?"

Hardcastle laughed even as he felt the tears of relief welling in his eyes. "Okay, kiddo, deal. No hedges today.

"Now you stay awake for a minute while I go get a doctor." Hardcastle felt the tightening on the hand that still held McCormick's. Not much, but it was there. "What is it, kiddo?"

McCormick focused his energy once more. "Don't...leave me," he implored softly, somehow feeling he might not make it back from the darkness again if Hardcastle left him alone now.

"Never," Hardcastle assured him, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Cautious of the still fragile body, he reached awkwardly across McCormick to reach the call button on the other side of the bed. He jabbed at the device, then seated himself back in the bedside chair. For the first time in days, he felt the world begin to settle back into its rightful place.

"I'm still here," he said softly to McCormick as they waited. And even as the doctors and nurses began to file in and complete their initial examinations and ask a hundred questions, McCormick never loosened his grip on Hardcastle's hand and the judge never pulled away.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Frank Harper smiled gently at the sight greeting his eyes. The nurse on duty had given him the good news as he had passed her station on the way to McCormick's room. Mostly he was relieved for Hardcastle, but he'd been a tiny bit surprised to discover just how truly worried he had been about McCormick in the last few days. He hadn't fully realized that the young man had actually managed to work his way into his heart, too.

Still, he was gratified that Hardcastle wasn't going to lose his young friend. Unexpectedly, the curly headed, always grinning, wise mouth ex-con had turned out to be a very good thing for the judge, and Harper wanted him to stay around a long, long time.

The detective moved quietly to sit in the empty chair, but Hardcastle still wasn't sleeping deeply, and he sat up immediately. "Frank," Hardcastle welcomed with a grin, "did you hear?"

"Yeah," Harper returned the grin. "They told me. It's great news, Milt, really. Lots of people are going to be very relieved."

Hardcastle nodded. "The kid never really thinks that, you know. Sees his past a lot." A shadow of guilt flickered across the tired features. "I'm sure I don't help that much sometimes."

Harper scoffed at the comment. "He would've been stuck with his past if not for you, Milt. You gave him a future."

"Nah. Just gave him a chance. He's doing all the work."

"That's a chance he wouldn't have gotten from too many people, you know." Harper paused. "And the kid knows it, too. I've already told you he won't blame you for any of this."

"No, he probably won't," Hardcastle admitted wearily. "But that doesn't make it any less my fault."

Harper shook his head; he obviously was never going to win this argument. He tried another. "You know what? Now that Mark's been awake, why don't you go on home for a while? I'll be glad to stay here with him until you get back."

But Hardcastle wasn't budging on that topic, either. "Not yet, Frank, but I appreciate the offer. Maybe I'll take you up on it tomorrow."

"Milt, he's been awake. The nurse said it looks like he'll be fine eventually. Go home and get yourself some rest."

"You didn't see him, Frank," Hardcastle said quietly. "He was so scared. Oh, he was trying to put on a good show—he does that a lot, you know—but he was scared. He doesn't really know what's going on. The doctors tried talking to him a little bit, but he wasn't making a lot of sense. He kept talking about marshmallows. Anyway, he was only awake for about ten minutes, then drifted off again. The doctors say it's a more natural sleep this time, whatever that means, but I want to be here when he wakes up for real. I'm not even sure he knows he's in a hospital, much less if he has any idea why he's here."

"Just promise me that after he _does_ wake up for real you'll go home right away and get some sleep," Harper bargained. "And for right now, why don't you close your eyes again and try to nap. I'll be right here if anything changes."

Hardcastle smiled gratefully. "It's a deal. I guess I am a little beat." He cast a quick glance over at McCormick to make sure the young man was still sleeping peacefully, then leaned his head against the chair back and drifted immediately to sleep.

As Harper looked at the two sleeping men, Hardcastle's hand shamelessly covering McCormick's, the detective said a silent prayer for life, for friendship, and for second chances all around.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

McCormick slowly managed to open his eyes into a narrow squint, and the only thing he could see was Hardcastle's face. "Judge?" he croaked.

Hardcastle leaned closer immediately, the sudden smile relieving some of the worry in his features. "I'm right here, kiddo," he answered.

"Throat hurts," McCormick continued hoarsely. "Can I have something to drink?"

Hardcastle turned to the bedside table to grab the cup of ice chips he had insisted be diligently refilled each time they had melted. "Only a bit of ice," he said apologetically, as he spooned a small piece into McCormick's mouth.

"M-M-M." McCormick managed a small smile. "More?"

"Just a little." Hardcastle gave him one more spoonful, then set the cup aside. "It's good to see you again, kiddo. How ya feeling?"

"Pretty bad," McCormick admitted. He opened his eyes more fully and looked around the barely lit room. "I'm in a hospital?"

Hardcastle nodded sadly. "Yeah."

"I feel pretty bad, Judge," McCormick repeated in a small voice. "Am I...am I gonna be okay?"

"It looks that way," Hardcastle answered with a reassuring smile, "though you had us worried for a while there. You didn't really think you could get away from me so easily did you?"

"Never crossed my mind," McCormick replied, comforted more by the teasing than anything else, just as the judge had intended.

"Was it Garza?" he asked after a moment. Then, before Hardcastle had a chance to respond, he rolled his eyes and answered his own question. "Where is my mind? Of course it was Garza. Man, he was pissed."

"You shouldn't try to talk too much right now, kid," Hardcastle cautioned. "And you probably shouldn't spend a lot of time dwelling on what happened, either. You need your rest."

"Probably." McCormick instinctively knew he shouldn't fully admit to Hardcastle just how weak he truly felt, and how every word was a struggle. But he wasn't ready to sleep again. "But I'll tell you, Judge, when you came storming into that office...I was never so glad to see you in my entire life."

A horrified look flashed across Hardcastle's face. "You were conscious?"

McCormick nodded slowly, which was about the only movement he was capable of making. "Right up until you guys showed up and he shot me that last time."

The judge grimaced, but didn't speak. No sense telling the kid that lunatic had actually pumped _two_ rounds into his gut just as the cavalry had arrived. Time enough for gory details later.

"Hey, Judge?" McCormick's voice was growing weaker as he drifted again toward darkness.

"What is it, kiddo?"

"I'm sorry I let you down. Promise I'll make it up..."

Hardcastle could feel tears burning behind his eyes again as he watched McCormick fall back into sleep. He offered a simple but sincere reply, wishing the young man could hear him.

"Kid, you have _never_ let me down."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

McCormick awoke more naturally the third time around. He glanced around the room and was a little surprised to see Frank Harper sitting at his bedside.

"Frank? Is everything okay?"

Harper grinned slightly. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

McCormick relaxed at the tone. Harper wouldn't be joking if anything was wrong. "Where's Hardcase?" He tried to reach for a glass of water on his bedside table, but realized his right arm was immobilized against a small board, and his left had an IV tube sticking out of it, making too much movement out of the question. Not to mention that he couldn't really sit up. He shook his head in disgust.

Harper smoothly placed the cup in McCormick's hand and gently helped the young man move it closer to his lips as he answered the question. "I sent him home earlier this morning; he was exhausted."

McCormick took a long drink through the straw, enjoying the cool liquid on his throat. "Thanks." Managing to hand the cup back to Harper, he sighed as he tried to adjust himself into a comfortable position. "What day is this, anyway?"

"Saturday," Harper replied, almost hesitantly.

"Saturday! But it was only Tuesday when..." McCormick trailed off, a look of sad understanding filling his face. "The judge must've been kinda upset. I didn't mean to worry him."

"Not you, too," Harper answered, shaking his head.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"I mean," the detective answered in a long suffering tone, "you both need to get over the guilt. Milt never wanted you to get hurt and you didn't do it on purpose, so neither one of you should be blaming yourself for anything."

"I'm not exactly feeling guilty," McCormick argued, "though I do hate that he had to go through this. But he sure as hell shouldn't be blaming himself for any of this. I've been a little groggy, but I'm pretty sure I've told him that already."

"I have, too," the detective said, "but it hasn't done any good so far. Maybe he'll let it go when you're all healed up."

McCormick grinned. "Yeah, maybe. Once he starts working me like a slave again I'm sure any lingering guilt will vanish entirely." He sobered quickly.

"Please tell me we at least got Garza?"

Harper nodded. "Yeah, and most of his goons. There are one or two guys on his payroll we're still looking for to at least question, but we dropped a net over everyone who was at the office when..." he hesitated, unsure exactly what McCormick remembered and what he should say.

"When he tried to kill me," McCormick finished the thought softly. "It's okay, Frank. I know what happened. Or, at least, I have a general idea. Some of the details are a little foggy in my brain, but I certainly remember the broad strokes. As much as all this sucks," he waved his hand slightly to indicate his bruised, bandaged, and tractioned body, "I know it could have been a lot worse. I'm just glad you guys got there when you did. I'm not sure how much longer I could've lasted. And I don't even want to think about what Hardcastle would've done if..." He let the thought go unfinished.

"Me, either." Harper shuddered at the thought. He paused, then added, "He has been really worried."

McCormick nodded. "I'm glad you made him go home. When I saw him, I think he looked about as bad as I feel." He grinned faintly, but the grin faded quickly. "Besides, I need to talk to you, and it'll be easier without him around."

A brief flicker of mild suspicion crossed the detective's face. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I figure you need a statement from me if we want to keep Garza behind bars."

"That will certainly be helpful," Harper said slowly. He took in the ashen color of McCormick's face, the sunken appearance of his eyes, and the pain and exhaustion that radiated from the young man. "But I think it can wait until you're stronger."

McCormick shook his head, fighting the drowsiness he could already feel overtaking him. "There's something I don't want him to know, Frank."

Harper met the pleading blue eyes. "Is it about the jobs you pulled?"

"How'd you know?" McCormick demanded, surprised. "And does _he_?"

Harper almost smiled, but McCormick seemed so genuinely concerned, he thought better of it. "I know because Garza gave you up. Guess he doesn't buy into the whole honor among thieves bit. But, no, I haven't told Milt yet."

"What do you mean, **_yet_**?" McCormick asked, his voice rising slightly.

"He's gonna find out," Harper said quietly. "Besides, he is your parole officer."

McCormick forced his eyes to stay open for one final question. "Am I gonna face charges?"

"Nah, I think we can work it out once we get the money back where it belongs," Harper assured him.

Drifting off, McCormick didn't completely register the detective's response. "Hardcastle's gonna kill me," he mumbled as he finally gave in to the sleep again.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Hey, Milt," Harper greeted as he looked up from his magazine. "You look a hundred percent better; do you feel it?"

"I'm fine," Hardcastle said dismissively as he dropped into the chair closest to McCormick. "How are things here?"

"Things are good. The doctor was here and he said Mark's readings seem even stronger than yesterday. He said he'd stop by later this evening in case you had any questions. And, Mark was awake for a few minutes."

"Really? Good. Was he talking? When he woke up early this morning he was still pretty foggy."

"Oh, he was coherent," Harper answered. "He wasn't awake long, but he was basically okay for the time he was."

"What did he have to say?" Hardcastle asked innocently.

"Not a lot. He was worried about you."

"He should worry more about himself," the judge said gruffly. "Unless, of course, you meant he was worried about me finding out about what happened."

Harper looked at him sharply. "What?"

"I stopped by to see Garza."

Harper rolled his eyes. He should've known Hardcastle had some ulterior motive for agreeing to leave the hospital. "First of all, now that we've got him behind bars, why don't you let us handle things from here? And secondly, I sent you home to rest, remember?"

"I did rest. And I thank you for that, by the way. Then I saw Garza. When were you planning to tell me he had the kid doing some work?"

"Honestly? It was gonna be a while."

"You don't think that's something I deserve to know?" Hardcastle demanded.

"_Deserve_ to know? Sure. _Need_ to know? Not really. At least, not right now." Harper showed none of the agitation that was brewing in his friend. "Milt," he continued reasonably, "you've had more than enough to worry about the last few days. What difference does it make anyway?"

"What difference?" The judge was incredulous. "He can't go around committing felonies every day, Frank! The kid's out on a pass, in case you've forgotten."

Harper was amused by Hardcastle's righteous indignation, spoken in a harsh whisper in deference to the sleeping McCormick. But he didn't allow himself to laugh. There was no sense inciting the judge further.

"I meant, what difference does it make right now? What are you gonna do about it? Revoke him?"

Hardcastle stared coldly at the detective. "Don't be stupid."

"Well, then..."

Hardcastle threw his hands up in exasperation, but he allowed the logic of Harper's words to sink into his brain. "Oh, all right," he finally huffed. "But, dammit, Frank, how am I supposed to keep him in line if I don't even know what's going on? Besides, you're supposed to be on my side."

Harper did allow himself a small chuckle at Hardcastle's new, childish tone. "I didn't know this was about taking sides, Milt.

"And, anyway," he went on, growing more serious, "I don't think you really have to worry too much about keeping him in line; he's doing a pretty good job of that himself lately. Of course, that is mostly because of you, but even so..."

The detective stared directly into the eyes of his long-time friend. "He would've told you about Garza, Milt. Just give him a chance."

Hardcastle sighed loudly. Harper was right, of course. Even as badly as he had treated McCormick before—on what he had morbidly come to think of as their 'last night'—he knew the kid would confess. Always the smooth talking con man, it just wasn't in McCormick to actually lie. Not really. Not about anything important. Not to Hardcastle.

The judge sighed again. "Of course he would've. But for right now, why don't you tell me about the job?"

"Garza didn't tell you anything?" Harper was surprised.

"Nah. He was more interested in taunting me about the idea of McCormick turning bad on me than he was in giving me any real information. So what gives?"

Harper shook his head. "Details are for Mark. Besides, I told you not to be worrying about it right now."

The detective rose from his chair, not intending to argue the topic any further. "Okay, Milt. I promised Claudia I'd deliver my daily update in person this evening, so I'm gonna go on home. I'll be back tomorrow."

Hardcastle grinned. "Okay; point taken. I'll let it go...at least until the kid wakes up."

"Yeah, well just in case I'm not here to run interference, don't be too hard on him."

"When am I ever?" Hardcastle harrumphed.

Harper laughed slightly, and rolled his eyes, but wisely chose not to answer as he turned to leave the room. "See ya, Milt."

Hardcastle smiled to himself as he grabbed a magazine and settled in for another night of waiting.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Morning, sleepyhead," Hardcastle greeted cheerfully.

"Morning?" McCormick looked curiously between Hardcastle and Harper. "But I was just talking to Frank a minute ago."

"That was yesterday, kiddo," the judge said with a small smile. "You've been a little out of it. Are you feeling better?"

McCormick thought for a moment. "Actually," he said with a small grin, "I think I am. I mean, I really still hurt like hell, but I don't feel like I've got marshmallows in my brain any more."

"Well..." Hardcastle began with a laugh.

"Don't start, Hardcase," McCormick threatened, his grin spreading across his face. "In fact, I even think I might be kind of hungry."

Hardcastle rolled his eyes at Harper. "Now I know he's gonna be okay," he grumped, but he was thrilled to hear that some of the strength had returned to the young man's voice. He turned his attention back to McCormick. "They'll be around in half an hour or so to see you, and you can ask for breakfast then. In the meantime, hotshot, since you're feeling a little better, I think we have some things to talk about."

The grin faded from McCormick's face as he heard the stern tone. Should've known old Hardcase wouldn't waste much time getting down to business. He shot an accusing glare at Harper.

"I didn't tell him anything," the detective objected.

"Frank's already gotten the lecture about the evils of keeping secrets...especially yours. When I was out yesterday I stopped by to see Garza."

McCormick shook his head. "Why would you want to go and do something like that?" he demanded. "Now that he's in jail, couldn't we just let the cops handle it?"

Harper smirked at the familiar sentiment. "That's what I said."

"I don't want to hear any of your whining, McCormick," Hardcastle instructed firmly, completely ignoring the detective, "just tell me about the job."

"Is it too late to say I don't really feel all that well?" McCormick asked, only half jokingly. When he didn't receive an answer, he took a breath and spoke. "Job**_s_**," he corrected fearfully. "Plural."

"**How** plural?" Hardcastle demanded. "Your boss seems to have left out that little detail."

"He's not my boss, Judge," McCormick answered sullenly.

"How many?"

"Three."

"**THREE?**" The judge's bellow was a stark contrast to McCormick's softly spoken answer, and Harper shushed him and reminded him he was in a hospital. "Three?" he repeated in a more reserved yell. "In one day?"

"Well, I- -" McCormick didn't get to finish his thought.

"Three jobs in one day," Hardcastle was huffing. "First of all, that's just arrogant; you're just asking for trouble when you go doing something stupid like that. Second, I would've thought you could use that big mouth of yours to get you _out_ of trouble almost as easily as it gets you _in_. Hadn't we just discussed the fact that I did not intend for you to actually commit any crimes? And thirdly, has it slipped completely out of that marshmallow brain of yours that you are still on parole? What in the hell were you thinking, McCormick?"

"I was thinking he might kill us," McCormick snapped back, annoyed that he didn't have the strength to really lay into the judge.

Hardcastle halted his tirade and exchanged a puzzled look with Harper. Neither one had anticipated that response.

"Us?" Hardcastle asked, genuinely confused.

McCormick hesitated. He thought Garza had told them everything, but obviously not. "Did I say 'us'?" he asked in his most I-Am-Absolutely-On-The-Level voice. "I must be groggier than I thought. I meant 'me'. I was thinking he might try to kill **_me_**." He smiled slightly. "Turns out I was right."

The judge examined him closely, and then shook his head. "Uh-uh, not buying it, kiddo. You said us and you meant us. Why would you think Garza would kill me? And why would Garza think you would care?"

"I don't know, Judge," McCormick replied, exasperated. "He's crazy, or hadn't you noticed?"

Hardcastle merely stared at the young man, but Harper laughed aloud. "Okay, Mark," the detective said, "even I'm not falling for that. Why don't you tell us what really happened?"

"You blew your cover, didn't you?" Hardcastle said suddenly.

McCormick laughed at the astounded tone. "Gee, Judge, you catch on quick." He grinned ruefully. "Why did you think I was laying in a bloody heap on his office floor?"

Hardcastle shuddered at the image that flashed into his mind, and McCormick immediately regretted his flippant attitude. "Sorry, Judge. But really, why did you think he was trying to kill me?"

"Garza said it was because you ripped off his money," Hardcastle said blandly.

McCormick almost laughed at the accusation until he saw the two somber faces staring back at him. "He's lying," he said simply.

"Then why don't you tell us the truth?" Hardcastle suggested.

McCormick shot a quick, pleading look at Harper.

"Maybe this could wait until he's a bit more rested," the detective immediately spoke up, and McCormick let out a huge yawn.

"He's plenty rested," Hardcastle answered. "He's been sleeping for four and a half

days."

Harper tried again. "Then maybe he'd be more cooperative on a full stomach. Why don't you run get him a breakfast tray?"

Hardcastle fixed the lieutenant with a stern glare that he typically reserved for wayward ex-cons. "I thought I told you not to be covering for him." He turned back to McCormick. "Whatever it is, you can't keep it from me forever."

McCormick sighed, then realized that was painful. He pressed his free hand against his ribs and tried to ignore the fact that Hardcastle was waiting for an answer. It didn't work long.

"Spill it," the judge ordered.

"He was on to me, Judge," the young man began quietly.

"How?" Hardcastle demanded.

"I don't know, but after that first job, he figured it out. I don't know what I did to give it away, but he knew, and- - -"

"After the first job?" Hardcastle interrupted. "You mean after the first of the three you did the other day?"

McCormick was tempted to lie, but he knew that would only be a short-term solution at best. "No, Judge, the _first_ job. I swear, we were just talking like normal, and I was spinning the same line of crap I'd been giving him for days. You know...Hardcastle is a donkey; too blind to know what's going on under his nose; kill me if he found out or at least give me a life sentence..." He grinned. "You know, that kind of stuff."

Hardcastle wasn't amused. "And?"

"And, I don't know. Somehow he knew. Really, I didn't say anything any different than I'd ever said to him." McCormick thought for a moment. "Maybe it was just too true right then," he finally suggested.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

McCormick tried to shrug, realized he couldn't, and winced at the effort. He drew in a raspy breath. "I don't know. I knew you were gonna be mad about the heist, and I was wishing there was a way not to tell you. But even more than that..." McCormick trailed off, debating the wisdom of voicing his thoughts.

"What is it?" Harper asked gently.

"I'm not sure," McCormick answered slowly, unable to meet the eyes of either man. "We had just pulled the job, and there was all that money, and it was so easy. And it would've been even easier not to tell. It kind of scared me." He shook his head slightly, then finally raised his eyes. He directed his comments to Harper, still avoiding Hardcastle. "Somehow, Garza saw something, I guess. He started asking questions about living with the judge, more details about my time in prison and my arrangement with Hardcastle. I was talking as fast as I could to undo whatever damage I had done, but I guess it didn't work."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Hardcastle asked softly, his face drained of color.

McCormick was not prepared to admit how hurt he had been by Hardcastle's earlier accusations. "I was going to, but then...well, then I didn't. I don't know. It was dumb. I'm sorry."

"**_You're_** sorry?" Hardcastle said in a low tone. "God, Mark, **_I'm_** the one who should be sorry." The judge rose quickly from his chair and left the room without another word.

"Judge! Judge!" McCormick called after him. "Frank," he said breathlessly, "go get him. This isn't his fault. God, I didn't want him to know how stupid I was." He rose as far in the bed as his bandages and his pain would allow, his face reddening from the exertion.

"Hardcastle!"

Harper had started toward the door to go after the judge, but McCormick's sudden agitation had begun to set off the alarms on the machinery still connected to the young man. He turned back in to the room. "Mark, calm down," he said quickly, pushing the weak form back onto the bed. "It's not going to make things any better if you get all worked up and end up back in la-la land. I'll go bring Milt back, but you've got to take care of yourself. He won't- - - "

"McCormick!" Hearing McCormick's room number called over the intercom had sent Hardcastle back through the door immediately. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" He moved to the bedside, and Harper gladly stepped aside to let him get closer.

"I'm fine," McCormick said weakly, allowing his head to sink back into the pillow. "Don't run out like that again, Judge. At least not until I can run out after you." He tried a small smile, though he felt it might've come out more like a grimace.

"McCormick- - - "

Hardcastle didn't have a chance to say anything else before a nurse burst into the room. She was immediately at McCormick's side, checking readings, looking over her patient, testing connections. But the alarms were already growing quieter, and she could see that McCormick was in no immediate danger. She gave him a warm smile. "Not the best way to meet, but welcome back to the real world, Mr. McCormick."

She was still looking him over and found the dampness on his arm. "Okay, it looks like I'll need to re-start your I.V.; you've managed to pull it out. Is everything okay?"

McCormick glanced over at Hardcastle, who had made room for the nurse, but showed no signs of bolting from the room again. "Everything's fine," he answered. "Sorry to be so much trouble so early." He forced strength into his voice. "But, listen, unless the stuff in this tube is actually keeping me alive right this minute, can this wait? Not to be rude, but I need to finish a conversation with my friends here."

"Let the woman do her job, McCormick," Hardcastle growled. "We're not going anywhere."

The nurse looked slowly between each of the men and took in their shared tension. "No," she said finally, "it's not actually keeping you totally alive. How about if I go get my supplies and grab you a breakfast tray, and come back here in about fifteen minutes?"

"That would be great," McCormick answered sincerely. Under other circumstances, he might have flirted with the pretty brunette, but right now his heart was pounding just from the strain of trying to sit up in bed, every muscle in his body ached, and he needed to talk to Hardcastle. Flirting would have to wait. "Fifteen minutes would be perfect."

As soon as the door closed behind her, McCormick turned his attention back to Hardcastle. "What the hell was that all about, anyway?" he demanded, trying unsuccessfully to turn to fully face the judge.

"Don't get smart with me, kid," Hardcastle answered roughly as he moved himself back into McCormick's line of sight.

His tone softened immediately. "You almost died just to keep me from thinking you had crossed the line."

"Nope," McCormick contradicted. "I almost died because I was too stupid to know when to pull out. But," he continued pointedly, "I _haven't_ crossed any lines, and I don't want you thinking that I have...not then and not now. I don't have that money, Judge." He looked at the detective standing quietly at the foot of the bed. "You guys didn't find anything in the offices?"

Harper shook his head. "And not in the Coyote, or Garza's house, either."

"Well, since you did find me in the office, and since I've been here ever since you took me from there, just where do you think I'm keeping it?"

Hardcastle didn't answer. His face was still white, and his blue eyes were filled with sorrow and regret. Harper wasn't sure the judge was really following much of the conversation.

"Garza says you never came back with the cash," the detective replied. "Says they picked you up late that afternoon and were trying to make you give up the stash."

"Yeah, right," McCormick said sarcastically. "I don't know what he thinks he's gonna gain by telling you guys that crap, though for some reason, it did seem really important to him to discredit me. Anyway, I suppose he failed to mention that I wasn't working alone? His goon, Morrissey, was with me every step of the way, so I couldn't have kept that money if I'd wanted to. Unless he thinks his buddy is in cahoots with me."

Harper raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I don't know about in cahoots with you, Mark, but it may be that Morrissey decided to go into business for himself. He's one of the guys we don't have yet," he explained.

"Well that's a neat little package, isn't it?" McCormick asked. "But I'll tell you the truth, Frank; I don't think Morrissey ripped Garza off. We went back to that office together, but he didn't stick around for the festivities. My guess is Garza had him stash the money somewhere, and when you guys showed up, Morrissey just stayed gone. I'm telling you, that man didn't spit without Garza's permission; he wouldn't double-cross him."

"Well," Hardcastle interjected in a strangely dull tone, "whether he's working on his own or not, I guess if we find Morrissey we'll find the money."

"Yeah, Judge, I think you will." McCormick examined Hardcastle closely, not liking what he saw. The judge was pulling further and further into himself, tension etched in every line on his face. He glanced back toward Harper. "Frank, could you give us a minute?"

Harper nodded and started for the door. "I need to report this information about Morrissey, anyway. Looks like he needs to be bumped up the ladder of importance." He paused in the doorway and turned back to his friends. The horrified and withdrawn demeanor of Hardcastle worried him; he let his eyes meet McCormick's. "You guys work this out." He vanished through the door, saying a silent prayer that McCormick would be able to get through to the judge.

"All right," McCormick said without preamble, "let's have it. Yell at me, curse at me, threaten me. Hell, _hit_ me. Just get it out."

Hardcastle continued to stare. "What are you talking about?"

McCormick sighed in exasperation and earned another stab of pain. "Look, I know you're pissed. And I know you've been worried. And now you're mad at yourself because you think you could've stopped all this somehow. But, Judge, you didn't cause this. None of this is your fault."

"Did you or did you not go back on that last day because I accused you of taking that money?" Hardcastle demanded.

"Not," McCormick said flatly. Not entirely true, but he was beyond caring.

"Listen, I was upset about what you said; I won't pretend that I wasn't. But by the next morning I knew you had just been running your mouth and I knew you would've calmed down." That was mostly true; he just wouldn't mention the tiny lingering doubt that had kept him from going into the house and simply asking.

"And," he continued, "I decided I had overreacted to the thing with Garza, anyway. I thought if he really had me made, he wouldn't have let me leave at all, so I figured I didn't have anything to worry about." Okay, that part was an absolute lie, but it was the same lie he had told himself in order to work up the courage to walk back into that madman's home, so he figured it would be okay to use it again. He would not have Hardcastle blame himself for this.

"You didn't make this happen, Judge," McCormick said earnestly, "and I doubt if there's anything you could've done to stop it. Please don't blame yourself."

Hardcastle looked into the shining eyes of the man he had never intended to care about, and his heart ached at the pain he saw. The physical pain was beyond his influence, but the emotional pain was quite another story. He pulled the chair close to the bed and dropped into it, never taking his eyes from McCormick.

"Okay, kiddo, I'll tell you the truth. I feel real bad about what happened, and I'm not sure I can change that. But since it seems to matter to you, I'll try. Maybe it will help if I start with an explanation."

"Judge," McCormick began, "you don't have to- - -"

Hardcastle placed a hand gently on McCormick's arm. "Yes, Mark," he contradicted firmly, "I do have to.

"Anyway, that night you came home, you were so late, and I was getting really worried. These cases where you have to go in alone and without even a wire make me nervous."

McCormick was touched by the rare admission, and wanted to offer some type of reassurance. "I can- -" he stopped, started again. "_Usually_, I can take care of myself. You shouldn't worry."

Hardcastle smiled weakly. "It's not the usually part that worries me, kiddo. We're here now because of the _un_usual.

"At any rate, I was worried then. You were much later than I had ever anticipated, and I was getting pretty worked up. Then, when you came strolling in, all wide eyed and grins, instead of just being relieved, I got angry."

The judge took a deep breath. "But when you told me about pulling that robbery, that's when I really let my temper get the best of me." He shook his head sadly. "I didn't mean to drive you away, kid, and I was sorry before you were even out the door. But I was so mad I couldn't stop you from leaving.

"But understand this, Mark: I never for a minute believed you had taken money. I mean, you were right; you didn't even have to tell me you got it and I would never have known. Hell, you didn't even have to tell me about the job, and I knew that even when I was yelling at you. It's like you said; I was just running my mouth.

"And as for the cash from the other jobs? We did think maybe you had stashed it away from Garza for some reason, but we never thought you intended to keep it. No matter what I might have ever said, you have my complete faith, kiddo." He offered a weak smile. "Even when you do dumb things like breaking into the courthouse, you know? Nothing's ever gonna change that, and I'm real sorry I made you think otherwise."

Hardcastle stopped talking abruptly, his smile turning to one of embarrassment. "I've been waiting four days to say that stuff to you, kid. Don't ever put me through that again."

McCormick grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it," he assured. The grin faded from his face. "Can I ask you something serious?"

"Of course."

"Well..." McCormick hesitated, unsure how to frame his question. The pain and exhaustion weren't doing much for his thinking abilities. "I guess...it's about the robberies. Or mostly the first one. Like I said before, it was so easy. And it was even kind of...fun." He met Hardcastle's eyes directly. "Is there something wrong with me, Judge? I mean, it's not fair that the only things I'm good at are all the wrong things." He shook his head. "I absolutely want you to trust me, Judge, but what if..." He paused for a long moment, and Hardcastle allowed him the time to gather his thoughts. "But what if," he finally continued, "I don't always trust myself?"

Hardcastle smiled gently, thinking he might be more proud of McCormick now than he had ever been. "First of all, kiddo, there's nothing wrong with you. And you're good at more things than you probably even realize. The fact that it bothers you that you also possess some rather questionable skills says more for your integrity than you'll ever know. And, if for some reason you ever start to doubt yourself, you just talk to me. I've got more than enough trust for both of us."

Though McCormick smiled, he didn't answer, knowing he would never be able to find a way to tell the judge what those few words meant to him. So he settled for hoping Hardcastle could see that truth in his eyes, just as he could see the truth in the pale blue eyes that stared back at him.

And in their shared gaze, the friends could see the healing begin.

**

* * *

**

"Will you stop sloshing your spoon around in that stuff?" Hardcastle growled from behind his paper. "I thought you were hungry, anyway?"

"Yeah, for _food_," McCormick complained. He looked at the broth in front of him. "This isn't even good enough to be called soup. And it's getting a nasty film on it." He stirred more vigorously.

Hardcastle set the paper aside with a slight grin. "Well, you know, kiddo, you were banged up pretty bad, had major surgery, and you've been unconscious and pumped full of all sorts of drugs for days. Did you think they were gonna bring you a loaded pizza for breakfast? Besides, you've been stirring that broth around for over an hour. If you'd eaten it while it was hot, it wouldn't have a film on it."

McCormick rolled his eyes and pushed the tray away, muttering. "Cold broth, warm tea, not even any sugar. What kind of a meal is that to wake up to? They could at least give me some crackers, or something with substance."

The judge chuckled, though it was difficult not to feel bad for the kid. "Give it time, McCormick. You'll be back to your normal culinary experiences before long. They just want to make sure all that grease and crap isn't going to kill you at a quicker than normal rate."

"Well, I'm not eatin' that stuff, so I think I'll go back to sleep for a while."

Hardcastle's expression was immediately concerned. "Yeah? Are you okay?"

"I'm all right, Judge, I'm just really kind of beat." McCormick shifted slightly, trying to make himself comfortable. "For someone who's been asleep for days, I sure feel like I haven't rested in years."

Hardcastle lowered the bed slowly and helped rearrange the blanket. "I don't imagine it was exactly pleasant sleep," he said with a small smile. "You rest as much as you need." He flipped off the light over McCormick's bed, then settled back into his chair. "I'll be here when you wake up."

McCormick returned the smile as he closed his eyes. "I know you will, Judge."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** _Thanks to everyone who's been reading this story; it is appreciated. I should have it completely uploaded by tomorrow at the latest._

* * *

Chapter 10

McCormick held his breath and waited for the pain to pass. This was getting old in a hurry.

"You need to take the medicine, McCormick," a voice growled from beside the bed.

That was getting old, too.

"I take the medicine when I need it, Judge. Let's not argue about it again."

"Then you got a strange definition of needin' it, kiddo. How bad are you gonna hurt before you just swallow the damn pill?"

Gritting his teeth, McCormick tried to explain. "Judge, everything that's gone on has been kind of...scary...for me. It's like I haven't been in control of my own life for a long time. And, as goofy as it sounds, when I take that medicine, I lose the rest of whatever control I'm getting back. I mean, if it doesn't knock me out completely, then I just get all loopy and can't think straight. And when I do go to sleep, my dreams are so weird, and I don't want..." He broke off and turned away, suddenly embarrassed at confessing his fears.

Hardcastle took a deep breath, forcing down a renewed anger for Garza, and focused his attention on McCormick. In the ten days since he had awakened, the ex-con had grown increasingly irritable, seeming to believe he should be able to simply jump right out of bed and get on with his life. And, he had grown more and more depressed each time he realized that simply wasn't the case.

Hardcastle reached out and placed his hand gently on the young man's arm. "It's all right, kid; I understand. I'm sorry you've had to go through all this, and I hate that you're still hurtin' so bad. But you have to remember that I'm here now, and I'm not gonna let anything hurt you again. I'm gonna help you, kiddo, until you feel like you're back in control again. Okay? Can you let me do that?"

McCormick drew in a shaky breath, and nodded his head slowly, but he didn't turn back to face the judge. He couldn't really decide if the gentle tone calmed him or scared him, but he did believe Hardcastle would do anything to keep him safe, and that reassurance finally allowed him to relax, breathe through his pain, and drift off to sleep.

And as he sat at McCormick's bedside, softly patting the arm beneath his hand, Hardcastle prayed for the complete recovery of his friend—body and soul.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

McCormick flipped disinterestedly through the magazine pages. "Cabbage Patch Kids," he muttered under his breath. "Isn't there anything more important to write about? Kinda ugly little creatures, anyway."

"What're you grumbling about, McCormick?" Hardcastle asked, laying aside his own magazine. He'd read a lot of magazines lately.

"Nothing," McCormick replied as he tossed the publication onto the bed in disgust. "I'm just bored. Can't you get me out of here?"

Hardcastle smiled slightly. McCormick had been complaining more and more the last couple of days—a sure sign he was beginning to feel better. But while McCormick's recovery was progressing even more quickly than the doctors had anticipated, and many of the smaller knife wounds had healed, he had taken a gunshot to his left thigh which still required him to be off his feet almost entirely, and his right shoulder didn't seem to be healing at all. "Not just yet, kiddo," he answered, almost gently. "It's only been a few weeks, you know, and you weren't even awake for the first part of it. Hell, McCormick, you still can't put any weight on your leg and can hardly move your arm. You know you're not ready to get out of here yet."

The young man just glanced away, not bothering to answer. He knew Hardcastle was right, of course, but he still didn't like it. He could feel the judge watching him, waiting for a response. "I hate it here, Judge," he finally said softly. His voice gained strength as he elaborated. "I can't do anything, can't eat what I want, can't go outside if I want...it's not a whole lot different than prison."

The judge tried not to snort his disbelief. "I'm pretty sure if you're ever back inside, McCormick, you'll look back on your time here fondly."

The ex-con looked back at the grinning jurist. "I don't really plan on havin' the opportunity to test that theory, Judge. Besides, I figure my time with you is sentence enough." McCormick had delivered the jab with his typical bantering tone and cocky grin firmly back in place, so he was surprised to see Hardcastle's face cloud over as the older man looked away uncomfortably.

"Judge?" McCormick ventured hesitantly after a moment. "What's up?"

Hardcastle shook his head. "Nothin', kiddo."

McCormick examined him closely, still not understanding the sudden change in mood. "Hey, Hardcase, you know I was only kiddin' around about that prison thing, right?" Normally, McCormick would never consider trying to apologize for one of his off-hand insults, but normally, Hardcastle wouldn't seem so bothered by them, either. He watched the judge settle himself back into the chair, visibly trying to push aside whatever troublesome thoughts had popped into his mind.

Undaunted, McCormick tried again. "Hey, why don't we talk about who's next on the old Hardcastle hit parade? It'll take my mind off this place."

That got Hardcastle's attention.

"_What_?" The sharp tone wasn't exactly what McCormick had been hoping for, but it was a start.

"You know, the bad guys? One of the poor unfortunate souls who managed to somehow offend your sense of justice? Someone we can harass for a few days before we throw them in the slammer? C'mon, Judge. A case."

Hardcastle stared at the grinning face before him. Hard to believe that two minutes earlier the kid had been on the verge of depression, though the McCormick mood swings were one of the things that kept life interesting. But a _case_? "Have you lost your mind, McCormick? You haven't recovered from the last case yet."

"Just a matter of time," the young man replied confidently. "Besides, I told you; it'll take my mind off this place."

"Well turn on the TV and watch some more of those soap operas if you need a distraction, kiddo; that's a lot safer. Anyway, besides the fact that you're still layin' in a hospital bed, you also haven't even finished up with all the reports from this case, yet."

McCormick rolled his eyes slightly. He should've known he'd walk into that again. "Don't start," he said firmly. "There's about half a dozen witnesses who saw Garza shoot me; Morrissey confessed when the cops finally picked him up with the money; and you've given your statement about how I came to be involved in the whole business in the first place. The man isn't going to get off this time, whether or not I outline all the gory details to the cops. I told Frank—and I told _you_—I'll tell him about it when I'm feeling a little better. So could we _please_ not have this discussion again?" The thought of trying to tell Hardcastle what it was like to have a blade caressed across his body time and time again, never knowing if—when—it would actually break the skin in a small scrape or even be plunged deep into tender muscle...well, that was a thought he just couldn't bear right now. He wasn't sure he ever could.

Hardcastle relented immediately. "Sure, kiddo. In fact, you're looking a little tired again, and I'm starting to feel kinda beat myself." He propped his feet up into the second chair, stretching himself out into the makeshift "bed". "Why don't we get some rest?"

"Not a bad idea, Judge," McCormick agreed, though he realized Hardcastle had very deftly managed to steer the conversation away from whatever had been bugging him. "But why don't you go home and get some real sleep? Or at least let them bring you a cot in here, or something." The young man had been making those same suggestions for over two weeks, hoping each time would be the time Hardcastle finally said yes.

Hardcastle shook his head as he closed his eyes. "Don't worry about me; I just need to rest my eyes for a bit, and you should do the same."

McCormick nodded, though Hardcastle couldn't see the gesture, and snuggled down into his own bed. The judge was asleep almost instantly, but McCormick lay awake for a long time, staring at his sleeping friend, and wondering what had caused the jurist's strange reaction today. And with the curiosity came a strange uneasiness, and the very first inklings of fear.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"So, you feeling up to telling us about that last day yet?"

When McCormick didn't answer right away, Hardcastle forced himself to take a breath and count to ten. He was trying hard to be patient. After all, the kid had been near death just a few weeks ago. And, in truth, it was far too easy for the judge to remember those agonizing days when he had been almost certain McCormick wouldn't survive. And he also remembered the vows he had made—both to himself and to God—that he'd treat the young man better if only he had the chance.

But now that recovery was also bringing a return of the familiar, infuriating hard-headedness, Hardcastle was finding it difficult to keep his promises, so he kept counting. He had almost reached fifty before McCormick spoke.

"You sure I shouldn't get a lawyer?" the ex-con joked.

"Hah!" Hardcastle grumped. "I'm the only lawyer you need."

"I think most courts would consider that a conflict of interest, Hardcase. Too much history for you to represent me fairly; the judge would throw your butt right out of the courtroom."

"Oh, that's what you think is it?" Hardcastle asked the young man. Then he added dangerously, "I have a different idea of how things are gonna turn out."

McCormick knew instantly the comment wasn't completely in jest, and figured he should probably be worried. But the entire exchange was just so damned typical he couldn't be bothered.

As McCormick's health had slowly improved, Hardcastle's temperament had slowly deteriorated, and it seemed harder and harder for the jurist to control his irritability. So, as the days wore on , McCormick had become increasingly certain that Hardcastle had some unpleasant surprises in store for him eventually, even though the judge was trying to treat him with kid gloves here in the hospital. But, honestly, the kid gloves were getting a little old. It felt good to actually be threatened again.

"What are you grinning at?" Hardcastle demanded.

"Nothing," McCormick answered, but the grin spread across his face.

"Don't antagonize him, Mark," Harper complained.

"And don't try to distract me," Hardcastle ordered. "I asked you a question."

_On second thought, the kid gloves might be better_, McCormick thought, but he answered the judge. "I know you did, Judge, and, yes, I'm ready to tell you what happened." McCormick spoke confidently, hoping he was doing the right thing. The truth was he didn't want to talk about that day at all; he sure as hell didn't want to talk about that day with Hardcastle. But he had run out of stall tactics, and Hardcastle's patience was obviously dwindling. He glanced at Harper. "It's your show, Frank. What do you want to know?"

The detective pulled a notepad from his jacket pocket. "Well, everything, really. But let's start with what happened when you first went to see Garza that morning, and then we'll just work our way through the day."

"But tell us if you need to take a break," Hardcastle added, back to the kid gloves.

"You know I will," McCormick answered with a smile. He took a breath.

"Okay. Garza wanted us all there by seven to have one last run through of his big caper. He'd given us all like a critique of our work the day before, and he wanted to make sure we were making the changes he suggested. I got there about five minutes before seven and I was the first one there. I knew then there was gonna be trouble."

"What do you mean? Why trouble?" Hardcastle asked.

"The rest of the team Garza had put together was a bunch of young kids, Judge; lots of talent, but not a lot of experience. They were all starry-eyed just to be working with Garza, fawning all over him." McCormick shook his head. "Hell, they were even impressed with me; thought doing time was like some kind of badge of honor." He rolled his eyes. "I hope I was never that stupid."

"Not likely," Hardcastle muttered, with just a hint of pride.

McCormick grinned his thanks, and continued his story. "Anyway, they were always early for everything, trying to make a good impression. When I realized none of them were at the house yet, I knew something was going on."

"So why stay?" Harper asked, hoping he wouldn't start another string of self-recriminations from Hardcastle.

"No choice by then," McCormick explained. "I already had to pass through Garza's security, so he knew I was there. Leaving would've only made things worse."

Hardcastle rubbed a hand across suddenly tired eyes. How many different times could this disaster have been prevented?

Noticing the expression, McCormick turned his attention to the jurist. "Still not your fault, Judge," he said gently. "You promised, remember?"

"I promised I'd try," Hardcastle clarified. He met McCormick's eyes and offered a small smile. "I'm working on it. Go ahead."

"So I rang the bell, and Morrissey answered the door. He took me into Garza's study...

- - - - - - - - - -

"_Hey, Tony," McCormick greeted cheerfully. "Where is everyone?"_

_Garza looked up from his desk. "There's been a slight change in plans. Sit down and we'll talk about it."_

_The tone wasn't exactly inviting, but Morrissey was standing immediately behind McCormick, ready to herd him in the right direction, so sitting was really the only option. McCormick sat._

"_How's Hardcastle?" Garza continued conversationally._

_McCormick didn't like the question, but he shrugged nonchalantly. "Big a jack-ass as ever. Why?"_

"_Just wondered what he thought about your extra-curricular activities yesterday."_

"_Well, it's a pretty good bet he wouldn't be too happy about it. But, it's also a pretty good bet he's still in the dark, or I sure as hell wouldn't be sitting here now."_

_Garza stared across the desk. "I'm not sure I really believe that, McCormick."_

_McCormick forced himself to look surprised, and offended, but definitely not scared. "What the hell are you talking about, Tony?" he demanded. "I told you how it is with us. I've got a pretty good gig going, you know." He allowed a slightly menacing tone to enter his voice. "I hope you're not planning on doing anything to mess it up." He felt Morrissey's fist cuff the side of his head and knew he was pushing his luck._

"_Don't threaten me, Mark." Garza's low, even words were almost sinister in their simplicity._

_McCormick shook his head, wanting to get back on track. "Of course not, Tony," he said in a conciliatory tone. "That's not what I meant at all. Sorry, man."_

_When Garza didn't respond, McCormick continued. "So what about this change in plan, anyway? Do you have more work for me?"_

_Garza was silent for another long moment, then jerked a thumb in Morrissey's direction. "Give him the list."_

_McCormick took the offered sheet of paper, then sat silently, absorbing the information. Finally he looked up at Garza. "Three banks?" he demanded, as calmly as possible, mindful of the muscle standing at his side. "In less than twelve hours? Did you actually mean for me to make it back with the cash?" He was surprised to see Garza shrug carelessly._

"_The money will just be an added bonus," the thief replied. "What I'm really looking forward to is watching that old hard-ass judge have his world ripped apart."_

"_What?"_

"_I did some more checking, Mark, and I don't think Hardcastle is the one you've been conning; I think it's been me. It looks like your relationship with him is real."_

"_Of course it looks real," McCormick answered reasonably. "If it didn't, he'd never fall for it."_

_Garza shook his head. "Seems like more than that. You guys hang out, go on trips together, play poker. Most people think you're real important to Hardcastle."_

_McCormick snorted. "Well most people would be wrong. I'm a convenience to him; handy to have around, but easily replaced."_

"_And what's he to you?"_

"_A meal ticket," McCormick answered coldly._

_But Garza wasn't buying it. "I don't really think so, Mark. But even if that's all it is to you, it's definitely more than that to him. I'd like to take something away from him for a change."_

"_Even if you were right about that, Tony, I mean, even if he would care, you're talking about him finding out about these jobs."_

_Garza raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Yeah. So what's the problem?"_

"_Me spending the next twenty years in a cell comes to mind," McCormick snapped. "I'm not sacrificing myself just so you can get some kind of warped revenge against a judge."_

"_Mark, Mark, Mark. I'm not talking about sacrificing you." Garza's attempt at reassurance missed the target badly. "You get that money back to me, and I'll make sure you've got enough to live on for the rest of your life. You can disappear."_

_McCormick shook his head. "This isn't what I signed on for, Tony. I'm not looking to be on the run for the rest of my life, either. In less than two years I'm a free man. Just let me do my time in peace. I'll do these jobs for you if you want, but let's leave Hardcastle out of it."_

"_I think you're missing the point, Mark," Garza said, his silky voice turning to stone. "I'm not asking."_

"_You can't exactly force me to rob a bank," McCormick replied logically. "What're you gonna do? Hold me at gunpoint while I crack a safe?"_

"_Of course not. If you don't agree, I'm just gonna kill you. We'll dump your body out on that nice private beach in Malibu, and Hardcastle will still lose his pet convict."_

"_Dead's probably better than the rest of my life in prison," McCormick said slowly, "and Hardcastle isn't gonna care one way or the other."_

_Garza took a moment to observe the man across the desk, watching him closely, and he almost believed him. He put forth one final test. "And, I figure after he's had a month or two to grieve, I'll kill him, too. I'll even tell him about your scam right before he dies, just so I can see his eyes when he finds out you betrayed him."_

_McCormick forced himself not to move, tried to keep his face from betraying his sudden terror. But he found he had no idea what words needed to come from his mouth now. If he pretended not to care, he knew Garza would carry out his threat, and both he and Hardcastle would end up dead. But if he argued to save Hardcastle, then Garza would know without a doubt that he'd been conned, and they'd probably end up dead, anyway. Finally, his silence said enough._

"_That's what I thought," Garza said snidely. "You care what happens to him."_

"_I care what happens to **me**," McCormick countered, "and things are going okay for me right now. All these plans of yours are just gonna screw everything up._

"_Besides," he continued, "I get the funny feeling that it isn't going to matter what I say; I'm pretty sure I end up dead either way."_

"_That hadn't been my intention in the beginning," Garza told him. "But now you're starting to piss me off."_

"_Well that sure as hell wasn't **my** intention," McCormick assured him. He tried again to redirect the conversation. "So let me make sure I have this straight. I do these jobs today, and you pay me enough to disappear forever? Is that the deal?"_

"_That's the deal."_

"_And I don't have to do anything else?"_

"_Nope."_

"_But you report me to the cops and to Hardcastle?"_

"_Yep."_

_McCormick hesitated. It was clear Garza didn't intend to give him the assurance he sought without a direct question, and the question would end the charade. But, he seriously doubted he was fooling anybody, anyway. Hardcastle was right; he should've used a different cover story. He swallowed hard and spoke._

"_And Hardcastle stays alive?"_

_Garza laughed maliciously at the admission. "Yeah, McCormick, Hardcastle stays alive. But you know you might've just made it a hell of a lot less likely that you do."_

_McCormick slumped slightly in his chair, listening to Garza laugh. He thought he would remember that evil sound until the day he died. He tried not to dwell on the idea that day might be today._

- - - - - - - - - -

McCormick reached for the cup of water on his bed table, trying to discreetly study Hardcastle's reaction. He wasn't surprised to see Harper doing the same.

But the judge was carefully avoiding their gazes, and the horrified guilt that he'd been trying for weeks to hide had erupted to the surface again. McCormick exchanged a worried glance with the detective. His eyebrows shot up into his curly hair, as if to say, _I'm out of ideas_.

Harper sighed slightly. "Maybe I should talk to Mark alone," he suggested.

Hardcastle jerked his head up to glare at the lieutenant. "I don't think so, Frank. I'm not gonna- - -" He broke off, just barely stopping himself from blurting, '_I'm not gonna leave him alone again.'_ The time for that kind of emotional talk had passed. Well, maybe it hadn't really, but that's not how he dealt with things.

Seeing the others watching him curiously, he finished the thought. "I'm not gonna break into a million pieces, ya know," he huffed.

Slightly reassured, McCormick felt a small grin pulling at his lips. But still, it was clear that continuing his story was a bad idea. "Okay," he said, "so then me and Morrissey ripped off those three banks. But I think Garza really had intended I get caught, because I'm pretty sure he had called the cops about the second location."

McCormick paused, remembering his terror at the idea of getting arrested while committing any crime, but especially _this_ crime. The thought of facing Hardcastle from behind bars had been unthinkable, and he had driven like he had never driven before to escape the unexpected police cars. He shook his head to clear the memory, and continued speaking.

"But we managed to escape and finished the third one, too. We took the money back to Garza's office suite, and he was pretty surprised to see me. Morrissey disappeared, and Garza had his other goons work me over some. That's when you guys showed up, and here we are." McCormick chanced a quick look over at Harper, hoping he would go along. He received a sly wink in return.

"Thanks, Mark," the detective said as he slapped his notebook closed. "That should about do it."

"Yeah, no problem. And I know it's a long ways down the road, but make sure the D.A. knows I can testify when it's time."

"That'll be great. I'm sure they'll- -"

"What the hell is going on with you two?" Hardcastle finally demanded, interrupting their conversation.

Young blue eyes looked back at him innocently. "What? Were you feeling left out of the official police business?" McCormick figured it would be easier to have one of their typical arguments than the very real one he could feel brewing in Hardcastle.

"Don't try flashing those baby blues at me, McCormick. I'm not one of those young nurses, ya know. Now what the hell happened to the rest of your statement?"

"Whaddaya mean? That _is_ my statement."

"McCormick," the judge seethed, "I am not fooling around here. Frank's gonna need more details than that. And I am more than a little tired of you pulling this mother-hen routine on me. I am not the one layin' in a hospital bed, lookin' like something the cat dragged in, so I don't think you've got all your plugs wired right if you're worried about me. Now spill it."

McCormick couldn't keep the grin from his face. "You always did have a way with words, Judge." He sobered just a bit, and met Hardcastle's eyes.

"Look, it's not just you I'm worried about here, okay? I mean, yeah, there's probably some stuff that happened with Garza that I don't want you hearin' about. But you know what? I don't really want to talk about it, either. Some of it I probably don't remember all that clearly anyway, and some of it I'll probably wish I _didn't_ remember, but I sure don't want to keep dwelling on it and pouring out all the gruesome details." He paused a moment to let Hardcastle consider his words, then offered another small grin.

"And as for the rest of the day... Well, when it comes to discussing my—what did you call it? criminal aptitude?—I think I'd feel better leaving some things to the imagination. A true artist never reveals the tricks of the trade, you know, Judge."

For one terribly long moment, the two men simply stared at each other, neither quite sure what would happen next. McCormick was pretty certain Hardcastle would argue, but he was absolutely certain the older man would lose. He had tried to give his statement because the judge had insisted he was up to hearing it, but that obviously was not the case. It would be a thousand times better to put up with his anger than his sorrow.

But though he would never admit it, Hardcastle had long ago learned there were times when all the bullying in the world couldn't budge Mark McCormick, and he recognized quickly that this was one of those times. And, if he was completely honest with himself, Hardcastle would admit that the kid was probably even right this time. There really was no need for him to hear the damnable details, and it filled his heart to find McCormick so concerned with his welfare, even after all that had happened.

Finally, he smiled gently at the younger man. "All right, kiddo. But when you're out of here, if Frank needs more details..."

"I'll talk to him," McCormick answered quickly, immeasurably relieved that Hardcastle was going to let this go.

"But," the judge continued forcefully, "if you ever just need to get some of this stuff off your mind..."

McCormick smiled at his friend. "I'll talk to _you_," he promised.

And in the brief moment of honest affection, a few more wounds began to heal.

* * *

"Kiddo? You awake?"

If it had been anyone else, McCormick would've ignored the voice and continued his descent toward sleep. Not that it would be anyone else, of course, since no one else would ever care enough to sit at his bedside day and night. He smiled to himself, and spoke without poking his head out from under the blanket. "What's up, Judge?"

"I know you said you don't want to talk about this..."

McCormick didn't move, didn't speak. Hardcastle was rarely the one trying to force conversation about any topic, but he sure had picked a doozy to be stubborn about.

"But there's something I need to know," Hardcastle continued in a strangely subdued voice.

Still McCormick didn't respond, though he certainly knew there was no real point in trying to withstand Hardcastle once the jurist's mind was made up.

"That stuff you were talking about with Garza..."

Under the blanket, McCormick grimaced. But after just a second, he relaxed his features, uncovered his head, and gazed directly at Hardcastle. "I was working, Judge," he said softly.

"I know that," the judge responded, waving his hand in the air, dismissing McCormick's statement. "But, when he was threatening me..." Hardcastle paused again. Suddenly, his eyes blazed with an unexpected anger. "Dammit, McCormick, what in the hell were you thinking? Did you really think I'd rather you sacrifice yourself?"

McCormick stared. Had he been upright rather than lying in bed, he thought his jaw might've hit the ground. He'd stayed awake to be yelled at? Over _this_? "Hardcase, I thought you had something important on your mind," he complained. "I was trying to sleep, ya know."

"I'm serious, McCormick. How do you think I would've felt if you'd died?" Hardcastle demanded.

"Ummm....bad?" McCormick ventured.

As suddenly as his temper had flared it was gone again, and Hardcastle laughed. "Yeah, kiddo, I guess that about sums it up; I would've felt bad. In the future, will you please try to remember that we're supposed to tackle things together? It's not your job to have to take care of me. I don't want you feeling like you need to protect me all the time, okay? If I'm gonna send you out on these cases, I have to know you're gonna be safe. Don't try to be a hero."

McCormick grinned. "I wasn't exactly trying to be a hero, Hardcase, but I'll try to keep it in mind. Although, if I do have some kind of hero complex, it's your fault anyway."

"How do you figure?" Hardcastle snapped.

Gathering his blanket back up around his chin, McCormick turned away and closed his eyes. "I've got a lot to live up to," he mumbled, then allowed himself to fall into a comfortable sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"You're never gonna make it home if you don't start eating better, McCormick."

'_Probably never make it home if I crawl out of this bed and deck you, either,'_ McCormick thought angrily. He kept his teeth gritted together to ensure the damning words didn't actually escape his lips.

"Did you hear what I said, McCormick?" Hardcastle demanded.

McCormick glared over at the scowling jurist, but still didn't answer. It was going to take another moment before he could trust himself to speak.

"Well?"

"I'm not hungry, Judge," the young man finally replied, somehow managing to keep his tone level.

"I don't remember asking if you were hungry," Hardcastle snapped. "But I do remember the doctor telling me that you weren't eating enough to get your strength back up. You know, I'd like to get out of here sometime soon, but I'm beginning to think you've decided this hospital bed is an easy way to get out of your chores."

"Easy?" McCormick sputtered, his face turning beet red. "Easy? Judge, there has been nothing easy about my life since the day I met you, and I'm not looking for that to change anytime soon. And, just for the record, I'd clean a lot of gutters and clip every hedge on the estate not to be here anymore. So as soon as you can get these quacks to let me out of here, you'll get your slave labor back. Sorry I put such a crimp into your daily routine. Next time I get tortured by one of your bad guys, I'll try to just go ahead and die."

McCormick regretted the words the second they left his mouth. True, Hardcastle was making him crazy with the constant hovering. And the judge's mood seemed to be growing surlier by the day. But, there was no way he wanted to start Hardcastle down the familiar path of guilt and shame. He grabbed the fork laying beside his plate.

"I'm sorry, Judge; I know you're worried. I'll eat, okay?" He shoveled some mashed potatoes into his mouth. "Okay?" he repeated thickly.

Hardcastle nodded silently. He watched as McCormick diligently worked his way through the tepid food that clearly was not enjoyable. After several agonizing minutes, he spoke. "I'm not really worried about the chores, McCormick."

"I know," McCormick replied, then forced himself to take another bite of the bland baked chicken.

Another long moment passed before the judge spoke again. "I can't really do anything about the food, kiddo, but would you at least like me to get you a soda? That's sort of like junk food."

McCormick grinned. "That would be great. Maybe one of those giant ones like they have at the convenience stores?"

The judge returned the grin as he started out the door. "How about one of those cans like they have in the machine down the hall?"

"'Kay." McCormick just shook his head as he continued his tasteless meal, and wondered just what the hell was wrong with the judge.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"Judge, I'm telling you, I'm fine! Go home, already, and take care of yourself." McCormick's peevish tone didn't really do justice to his genuine concern.

"Don't worry about me, McCormick," Hardcastle ordered, "and **_don't_** tell me what to do."

"You're wearing yourself out!"

"No, kid, that's what you're doing to me."

"Very funny," McCormick snapped, his irritation as real as his concern.

"Hey, you guys wanna hold it down in here? They can hear you halfway down the hallway." Frank Harper was grinning as he entered the room, but there was a trace of seriousness in his eyes. These last five weeks were taking their toll.

Two sets of angry blue eyes turned to look at the detective. McCormick raised one hand limply in a half-hearted wave, but that was the only greeting he received.

"Well, it's good to see you, too."

"Sorry, Frank," McCormick said, and almost managed to sound sincere. "But you wanna tell this donkey over here that I don't need a 'round the clock nursemaid anymore?"

"Hah!" Hardcastle interrupted before Harper could be pulled into the conversation. "If that was true, they woulda let you out of here already, but since they haven't, you obviously still need some watchin' over. So quit arguing with me about this because I'm the one who's right, de jure and de facto."

McCormick laughed suddenly, managing to reduce the rising tensions. "I just love it when he gets all legal," he said, rolling his eyes at Harper.

Hardcastle grinned, his own frustration diminished by McCormick's new good humor. "All right, kiddo, how about if I go get a cup of coffee and give us both a break? Frank, you'll be here for a few minutes?"

"Of course," Harper replied, relieved his friends could put aside their anger so easily.

"Okay, I'll be back in a little while."

McCormick held his tongue until the door was completely closed behind the judge, then he sighed loudly. "He's drivin' me crazy, Frank!"

Harper smiled as he pulled up a chair. "You need to cut him a little slack, Mark. This has been hard on him."

"Hard on him? I'm the one who almost died, and I'm the one who has to stay cooped up in this room like some kind of a prisoner. And I'm the one who has to look at his ugly mug and listen to his goofy stories day and night."

After a long moment of silence, McCormick realized he wasn't going to get any sympathy. "Oh, all right," he conceded, "I know it's been hard on him, too. He's been worried, and I appreciate the concern; I really do. But, Frank, he needs to get out of here. I'm gonna be fine; they let me out of bed a lot more these days; I can walk up and down the hallway all by myself; and they said I can probably even go home soon. But Hardcase hangs around here like I'm at death's door. He's exhausted. He doesn't sleep well, and he's trying to live off that crap they call food down in the cafeteria. I'm worried about him. And besides..."

It took a moment for Harper to realize McCormick didn't intend to finish his thought. "Besides what, McCormick?"

The young man shook his head. "Nothing. I'm just worried about him is all. I wish you'd talk to him and get him to go home."

The detective wasn't buying the brush-off. "And besides **_what_**?" he insisted.

McCormick sighed as a troubled look filled his face. "I'm not sure. I know he's tired, but, honestly, it's like I'm always on his last nerve. I mean, he won't leave, but he acts like he can't stand the sight of me sometimes. We fight all the time. Nothing I say is right. He gripes if I don't eat when he wants me to, or if I tell the nurses I don't want any pain medicine. Hell, he even complains if I don't sleep enough. Can you believe that?"

Harper smiled at the pitch of McCormick's last question. The higher octave was a sure sign the young man was reaching the end of his rope. "I think you're making too big a deal of this, Mark," he said reassuringly. "Milt's just been really worried about you, which is sort of unusual for him. At least, it's unusual for him to show it. And, you're right; he's worn out and should probably go home. But he hasn't quit blaming himself for what happened. When you get back home, things will be better."

"_If_ I get back home," McCormick muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harper demanded.

McCormick shrugged—and reflected quickly how much easier that simple movement was becoming, though it still brought a stab of pain. "I told you, he's mad at me. I think it's because of...because of the things I did. But it's like he won't really get mad at me about that because I'm here, so he spends all his time yelling about other stuff. It's the craziest thing. And...it makes me wonder what he'll do when I'm better."

"What do you think he's gonna to? Lock you up?"

"Maybe."

The single word was spoken so quietly Harper almost missed it. And when it finally did register in his senses, he marveled that McCormick could honestly be worried. But now that he knew to look for it, the detective could clearly see the quiet fear in the young man's eyes. He shook his head slowly.

"Mark. You must've been taking more of that pain medicine than I thought. Trust me when I say that you do not need to be worried about this. There is no way Milt is sending you back."

"You don't know how angry he is," McCormick contradicted. "And...you don't know everything he's angry about."

Harper allowed himself a slight smile. "Actually, I think I have a pretty good idea of what he's mad about, and—trust me—I know what it's like to feel his wrath. And, I'm not saying there's not gonna be consequences. But, honestly, I think the worst thing you have to look forward to is some extra pruning or maybe scrubbing the sea wall. He isn't looking to make this official."

"Then why's he being so damned cantankerous?" McCormick demanded, throwing his arms up in exasperation, then immediately regretting the movement. "Aww, shit!" he cried, grabbing his right shoulder. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," McCormick replied in a strained voice that betrayed the lie.

Harper reached for the call button. "Let's let someone take a look," he suggested, and grew more concerned when McCormick didn't object.

It only took a couple of minutes for the nurse to come bustling through the door, but it was long enough for McCormick's face to lose all color.

"Hey, Mark," the nurse said cheerfully as she approached the bed. "You've looked better."

It had been many days since the pain was stronger than McCormick's other feelings. He smiled bravely. "You, on the other hand, Lizzie, have never looked more beautiful."

Nurse Elizabeth Perlman laughed as she gently pulled McCormick's gown away from his shoulder. "I keep telling you, Mark, I don't date the patients." She pulled the bandages back a bit, and could see that blood was beginning to seep through the underlying gauze. She turned a mock scolding look on the young man. "And if you keep pulling your stitches loose, you're going to be a patient a very long time."

"Then I'll stop," he assured her.

"It's not really too bad," Perlman continued, including Harper in her glance. "I'll just go get a suture kit and we'll get it fixed right up." She turned her full attention back to McCormick. "I think you might need a pill now, too, okay? Just a light dose. It will help."

McCormick nodded his agreement. He hated medicine, but there was no sense being obsessive about the idea.

She smiled in relief. This one had been stubborn before. "Don't go anywhere," she said lightly as she turned to leave.

"For you, Lizzie, I would wait forever."

McCormick grinned as he saw Harper roll his eyes. "What?" he demanded once the nurse was out the door.

"I'm just a little bit in awe," the detective admitted. "You're laying in a hospital bed, hurting like hell, worn down, and worrying—however unnecessarily—about spending a long chunk of time behind bars, but you've still got the energy to flirt with the nurses?"

McCormick laughed. "Hey, life goes on," he said philosophically.

Harper shook his head. "Incredible.

"But listen," he continued, growing serious, "before she gets back. I want you to quit worrying. The only thing you need to focus on right now is getting well and getting out of here. I'll talk to Milt, if you want, but- - "

"No!" McCormick interrupted forcefully. "Frank, please. Don't tell him what I said. On the outside chance that you're right and he's not already planning my return to prison life, I don't want to give him any ideas. Okay? But I do wish you'd talk him into going home for a while. He really does need a break."

"Mark, half the problems you guys have happen because you won't just talk to each other. He should know how you feel."

McCormick shook his head and stared resolutely into Harper's eyes. "Please, Frank."

And in that instant, Harper knew that he would give in, even though he disagreed; knew suddenly that it would never be possible to withstand those blue eyes once McCormick made up his mind to be honest and sincere. He wondered briefly how Hardcastle ever managed to win any of their arguments.

"Oh, all right," he agreed reluctantly. "But I still think you'd be better off to tell him what's going on in that goofy brain of yours and ask him what's going on in his."

"Maybe someday," McCormick replied, resisting the impulse to shrug, "but not right now. But really, you make him take care of himself. He absolutely isn't listening to me."

"I'll do my best," Harper promised as the nurse re-entered the room. He sat silently as she tended to her patient, worried about the young man on several different levels.

"First, take this," Perlman instructed, handing McCormick a small pill cup and a glass of water. "It isn't a big dose, but it's still going to make you sleepy."

McCormick didn't argue as he gulped down the painkiller, so she knew he was hurting. She looked at him closely, gauging the level of pain, and was pleased to see him smile.

"I'm okay, Lizzie," he said softly. "Do what you need to do."

She returned the smile—reminding herself that she didn't date patients—and set to work. "First, just a small shot for local anesthetic. I know your shoulder is really tender, so it's going to hurt a bit." She carefully removed all the gauze and tape, cleaned the area, and then skillfully gave him the injection, ever mindful of his comfort.

"Didn't feel a thing," he told her with a small grin.

She made mindless chatter with him for a few moments, giving the medication time to take effect, then picked up her tools. "Okay, let's get you sewn back together."

She continued the light-hearted conversation as she began closing the gash of skin that McCormick's movement had re-opened. She had almost completed her task when she saw a grimace cross McCormick's face. "Mark? Did I- -"

"What the hell happened, Frank?"

Perlman winked at McCormick, offering silent support, then directed her comments to the newly returned Hardcastle. "It's nothing major, Judge Hardcastle. Mark pulled a few of his stitches loose, so we're putting him back together."

"You were supposed to watch out for him, Frank," Hardcastle accused.

"And you were supposed to chill out a little bit while you gone," McCormick interjected. "Anyway, I don't need a baby-sitter."

"Apparently you do," Hardcastle huffed.

"All done," Perlman interrupted suddenly, overly cheerful. She had witnessed enough of their bickering to know they usually just needed to be reminded of an audience in order to stop, and this was no exception.

"Is he okay?" Hardcastle asked the nurse, choosing to ignore his friends for the moment.

"He's fine, Judge. It really was fairly minor, just kind of painful. He'll probably be resting for a while." She rearranged McCormick's gown as she spoke. "Did you need anything else, Mark?"

He smiled at the young woman. "I'm good, Lizzie, thanks." He watched her leave before turning his attention to Hardcastle. "Judge..."

Wisely silent up until this point, Harper finally spoke up. "Hold it. Neither one of you talk; just listen.

"Milt, Mark is right; he doesn't need a baby-sitter. And it's not like he was out of bed playing basketball or something; he just moved wrong and the stitches came out. He took a pain killer, and he's going to rest for a while.

"And, Mark, while you might not need someone to be with you 'round the clock, you've had people worried lately, and it makes us feel better to know you've got someone with you. But, it does kind of wear Milt down, so you should try to cut him some slack if he's a little testier than usual.

"But since things seem to have reached a boiling point right now, here's what's gonna happen: Milt, you're gonna go home for a while." Harper glared at his friend and held up a single warning finger, forbidding interruption. "You're gonna have a decent meal, take a nice long shower, then crawl into bed and sleep for at least the next six hours. And I'm serious about that. Set your alarm or something, but don't get up out of that bed before six hours. Mark will be asleep a good portion of that time, anyway.

"And, Mark, you are gonna sleep. If that pill isn't strong enough to block the pain and let you rest, you're gonna get something stronger." He turned the stare and the finger toward McCormick. "You _are_ going to sleep, because you're hurting, and because you're a little bit testy yourself. When you wake up, you also will have a decent meal, and if the pain is still bothering you, you'll let the nurses give you another dose of medicine.

"And during all of this, I will be right here, reading a magazine and maybe eating a cheeseburger, enjoying the peace and quiet." The detective stopped talking abruptly, and watched the other two men expectantly.

There was a moment of silence while both Hardcastle and McCormick seemed to consider their options, then they spoke, almost in unison.

"Okay."

Harper grinned, pleased with himself, and dropped back into his chair.

Hardcastle remained at the bedside, suddenly uncomfortable. He started to reach out and rearrange McCormick's blanket, then stopped himself and let his hands drop back to his sides.

Noticing the movement, McCormick smiled gently. He was already beginning to feel the effect of the medication, but there was still time for this. "I'm sorry I've been on your case, Judge."

Hardcastle waved dismissively. "Don't worry about it. I didn't mean to make all this harder on you, kiddo; I wanted to make it easier."

"And you have," McCormick answered softly. "Really. But you don't have a monopoly on worrying, you know. I want you to take care of yourself."

"You'll be okay?" Hardcastle asked, for once allowing his concern to genuinely show.

"I'll be fine. And Frank will be here, so you don't need to worry. Okay?"

"Okay," Hardcastle agreed with a slight nod. "Then I'll be back this evening."

"Good," the younger man answered with a smile.

Hardcastle grinned, reflecting quickly that McCormick really was a good kid, even when he was being annoying. Frank was right; a short break would be good for both of them. He glanced at the detective. "Thanks, Frank. I'll see you later."

Harper breathed a sigh of relief as the jurist exited. "Well, that didn't go so badly."

McCormick grinned. "You did great, Frank. Thanks."

"I was a little bit worried you guys might kill each other," Harper complained.

"I told you he was on edge." McCormick paused. "Well...okay, we're both on edge," he admitted. He felt his eyes drooping. "I think I'm gonna go ahead and sleep now, Frank," he said slowly. "But you don't really need to stay. I'm fine. Really."

Harper smiled. "If you think I'm gonna risk getting him pissed at me over this, you're crazy. If he came back and found me gone, your friend, Lizzie, would have to get me my own bed."

McCormick chuckled slightly as he pulled his blanket up around his chin. "Okay, I give. No more arguing today."

Still smiling, McCormick allowed himself to drift off to sleep. And in his dreams, he clipped hedges, and played basketball, and knew he would always be safe.

* * *

McCormick opened his eyes slowly and groaned slightly. He saw Harper looking at him with concern.

"Mark? Are you okay?"

McCormick pulled his hands across his face, doing his best to focus. "Yeah, I think so. Damn. I hate takin' that stuff."

Harper smiled at him. "Even in your sleep your shoulder seemed to be bothering you, so I think you did the right thing."

"So what time is it, anyway? Has Hardcase made it back yet?"

"Nah. If he actually does what I told him, he won't be back for another couple of hours."

"Good."

The detective looked at the young man crossly. "What do you mean, good? This little break was supposed to put you in a better frame of mind. You know, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that crap?"

McCormick grinned. "Don't worry; your plan worked. I just need you to get a few things together for me before the judge gets back."

Harper watched the other man suspiciously. Only McCormick could wake up from a drug induced nap with a scheme. "Go on..."

**

* * *

**

Frank Harper jumped to his feet as soon as he heard the door push open.

"Knock, knock," Hardcastle called heartily as he entered the room. "Hey!" he cried, as Harper pushed by him. "Where you rushing off to?"

"Back in a minute," the officer replied without pausing.

"What's with him?" Hardcastle grouched as he approached the bed.

McCormick mimicked Harper's non-answer. "He'll be back in a minute."

Hardcastle just shook his head, wondering briefly what had ever possessed him to allow a friendship between the ex-con and the detective. Honestly, that was just asking for trouble, he thought to himself with a small grin, though he knew he wouldn't really have it any other way.

"Yeah, okay." He dismissed the idea from his head. "I brought you something," he said, raising his hands to reveal a white sack and paper cup.

"Burger Man?" McCormick asked gleefully, a sudden grin lighting his face.

"Yep," the judge replied, "including one of those chocolate shakes you like so much." He placed the food on the table, set about raising McCormick's bed slightly higher, and then slid the table into place. "All set?"

"All set," McCormick agreed, as he greedily opened the bag.

"I know Harper said you were supposed to have a decent meal," Hardcastle continued, "but I figured you might be going into some kind of junk food withdrawal."

"You got that right." McCormick gladly stuffed a handful of fries into his mouth. "Thanks, Judge," he said thickly.

"You're welcome, kiddo," Hardcastle grinned. The smallest things always seemed to bring the biggest joy to McCormick.

"That other sack for me, too?" McCormick asked between bites, glancing at the previously ignored brown paper bag.

"Yeah, but not for right now. It's some of those car magazines you like." Hardcastle placed the bag onto the nightstand, then took up his familiar spot in the bedside chair. "I figure if you're gonna keep runnin' me off, you'll need something to do while you're here alone."

A flicker of guilt crossed McCormick's face as he placed his cheeseburger back down on the paper wrapper and looked at Hardcastle. "I'm not runnin' you off, Judge," he said softly.

"Sure you are, kid, but that's okay. I should've let you do it a long time ago. You're right; we're wearing each other down. I need to quit being so overprotective and just let the hospital do their job."

"But you'll stay for a while tonight, right?" McCormick asked hopefully.

Hardcastle smiled in surprise; there was just no understanding this kid. "As long as you want, kiddo."

"Good," McCormick grinned, and returned his attention to his meal.

Hardcastle grabbed a news magazine off the stack Harper had brought in and settled back in his chair. Only then did he notice the television on a rolling cart sitting just beneath the one mounted on the wall. "Your TV go out or something?"

"Something," McCormick mumbled around the burger.

Hardcastle looked more closely. "And they brought you a VCR, too?"

McCormick gave a half-hearted shrug, mindful of his shoulder. "That's the way it came."

McCormick's response seemed a little odd to the judge, but before he could really consider it, Frank Harper came back through the door. But Hardcastle smelled him before he saw him. "Popcorn?" he asked in surprise, looking at the bowl the detective carried.

McCormick grinned. "See? I got you a snack, too."

Harper placed the bowl on the table next to Hardcastle, then pulled open a drawer to reveal a small Styrofoam cooler. "And there's soda and a few beers, too," he explained. He glanced at McCormick. "But only soda for you, young man."

Hardcastle laughed. "Thanks, guys."

"Don't thank me," Harper said as he started back for the door. "I'm just the leg man; it was Mark's idea."

"Where're you going?" Hardcastle asked.

"Home to my wife," Harper answered with a grin. "You guys have a good evening."

McCormick waved. "Thanks for everything, Frank. See you later."

Hardcastle looked back at his young friend with a smile. "Thanks, kid."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," McCormick answered smugly. He reached under his blanket and produced a remote control. Pointing it at the newly arrived rolling cart, he powered on both the television and the tape player, and after just a moment, Hardcastle could see the sprawling opening sequence of _True Grit_.

The judge laughed aloud as he grabbed a beer and put the magazine aside. "You're too much, kiddo," he said as he made himself comfortable. He looked around the room a moment, and then added, "Well, it doesn't quite have all the comforts of home..."

"No," McCormick agreed, "not quite." He glanced over at the older man, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "But it does have the best parts."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Mark McCormick was leafing through a magazine again, though—as usual—he wasn't the least bit interested in what he was seeing. Not that he didn't appreciate the racing magazines Hardcastle had brought in...he did. But the judge's behavior had grown increasingly unusual over the past couple of weeks, and McCormick was finding it difficult to concentrate on much else.

Since the night of _True_ _Grit_, Hardcastle had been true to his word and had made a concentrated effort to spend less time sitting at McCormick's bedside. But, his actions were more in keeping with the letter of the agreement than the spirit, and he never left the hospital until the young man was asleep for the night. And, although he didn't rush right back to the room as soon as he was up for the day, Hardcastle was always seated in his familiar chair before McCormick finished his breakfast, ready to be of service.

Still, McCormick could've handled all of that. At least the judge was getting a decent night's sleep, so he was much less irritable. And, Mark could've even tolerated all the hovering and pampering, because he knew Hardcastle meant well.

But what he was not dealing with particularly well was the way Hardcastle was withdrawing into himself, pulling away, like their friendship didn't matter anymore. It was really kind of strange how the old guy could simultaneously seem so concerned with the ex-con's security and comfort and still seem so remote and unapproachable.

McCormick was accustomed to Hardcastle's normal lack of sentimentality and emotionalism—that was part of what made it fun to tease the judge so mercilessly. But he was not used to this feeling of isolation. Honestly, he hadn't felt so alone since before he had gone to live at Gulls Way. And, he knew Hardcastle well enough to know that this wasn't an accident. He knew he was being pushed away. And, although he didn't know for sure, he thought he had a pretty good idea why.

Hardcastle didn't trust him anymore.

It was a realization McCormick hadn't wanted to accept; he really wanted to believe that Hardcastle meant all the kind and understanding words he had said weeks earlier. But he knew now that had been the judge's guilt talking, and nothing more. Milton C. Hardcastle was a law and order type of guy, and—in his rational moments—it was hard for him to wrap his mind around the fact that some people just weren't. And when the guy who wasn't just happened to be an ex-con paroled into his custody, well...Hardcastle had a pretty easy solution, didn't he?

McCormick thought it was possible—barely—that the judge might have gotten over his problems with the bank heists. After all, that had all been in the line of duty, right? But, after hours and days of introspection, he had reached the conclusion that it was breaking into the court records office that had been his downfall...even if it had been for a good cause. Yeah, apparently that was the part Hardcastle was really having a difficult time coming to grips with, and he would undo it if he could, but now the damage was done.

"Hey, you okay over there, kiddo?"

The anxious tone cut into McCormick's thoughts. He hadn't noticed the magazine crumpling beneath his clinched fingers, but seeing Hardcastle watching him with renewed worry brought him back to reality, and he forced himself to relax.

"Never better, Judge," McCormick answered, but he couldn't quite manage the light-hearted tone he sought.

"I'm serious, McCormick," Hardcastle said as he rose to stand next to the bed. "You're supposed to go home tomorrow, and I need to know if there's some reason you shouldn't." He locked his gaze onto McCormick's eyes and repeated, "Are you okay?"

McCormick managed a genuine smile at the obvious concern. "Yeah, I'm okay, Hardcase. Don't go getting all misty eyed on me; I'm just kinda tired. If I fall asleep during the ballgame tonight, just leave my winnings on the table."

Hardcastle chuckled lightly as he resumed his seat, but he still watched McCormick closely. He didn't like the kid keeping secrets from him.

Then again, it seemed there were more than enough secrets to go around.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"Glad to be getting out of here?" Hardcastle asked, as he helped McCormick pull on his shirt.

"What do you think?" McCormick replied, a grin splitting his face. "You know what they say: there's no place like home. At this point, I'm even starting to miss the gutters."

Hardcastle smiled in return, but McCormick couldn't help but notice that the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. The laughter faded from the young face as he turned his attention to buttoning his shirt. He held his breath, waiting—as he had for what seemed an eternity—for the words he dreaded. Regardless of Harper's constant assurances, McCormick knew when something was bothering Hardcastle, and this was definitely one of those times. As much as he wanted to believe things would return to normal now that he was finally leaving the hospital, every fiber of his being knew differently. Something had changed with the judge. Now it was simply a matter of waiting for the old guy to find the courage to say so.

But even in this, McCormick wanted to make things easier on the judge, and he found himself wishing the words would just come, already. He hated the pain and uncertainty that never left the older blue eyes, and he wanted it to end. Of course, he knew that particular pain probably ended with him behind bars, but at least the judge could finally relax.

He shook his head slowly. _The judge could relax?_ That was insane! Since when was old Hardcastle's well being more important than his own, anyway?

The thought stopped McCormick cold. He didn't know since when, but he thought it was probably true, even as crazy as the idea was. He opened his mouth to let the judge off the hook. "If you want..."

But he couldn't force the words from his throat. Honestly, he would die for Hardcastle if necessary. And, he would even go back to prison without—much—argument, if that was the judge's decision. But, no matter how much he hated Hardcastle to hurt, he couldn't find it in himself actually _ask_ to be sent away.

The judge eyed him uncertainly. "If I want what, McCormick?"

McCormick forced a slight grin. "If you want, I can drive us home."

Hardcastle's sudden laughter immediately chased away most of McCormick's gloomy thoughts. "McCormick, you're so stiff, I just hadda help get you dressed. If you think I'm trusting you behind the wheel, you're crazy."

McCormick managed an honest smile. "Okay. Just thought I'd ask."

Hardcastle smiled in return as he grabbed McCormick's duffel bag. "Just put your butt in that wheelchair, and we'll get out of here."

"Judge..."

"Hospital rules, kiddo," Hardcastle told him firmly.

"Well that's convenient," McCormick muttered.

The judge grinned shamelessly. "Yep, it is."

McCormick thought that a person could learn a great many things hanging out with the Honorable Milton C. Hardcastle, but probably the most useful was the ability to give in gracefully. He dropped into the waiting wheelchair without further argument. "All right, Kemosabe; Tonto is ready to head out for the ol' homestead."

Hardcastle chuckled as they headed out the door, though he felt his own sense of unease at the thought of returning to Gulls Way. As he pushed the chair down the hallway, he said a silent prayer that he and his friend had recovered sufficiently to weather what was coming next.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:**_ Well, here it is: final chapter! The boys are headed home at last, though only time (just a bit more) will tell what happens once they get there._

_Thanks so much to those of you who have stayed with me and taken the time to read this; your interest is truly appreciated. And, feedback is always welcome, so let me know what you think, if you're so inclined._

* * *

Chapter 17

Hardcastle glanced at the passenger side of the Corvette with a grin. McCormick was sitting straight up in the seat, his stiff right arm resting on the open window, eyes wide open with wonder, and a smile lighting his face. "God, it's a beautiful day, Judge!" the young man exclaimed.

Hardcastle laughed. "You act like you've never seen outside before, kiddo." It probably wouldn't do to let on just how much the simple joy delighted him.

"I _feel_ like I've never seen outside before, Judge." McCormick breathed in deeply, then let out a long, slow exhale. "The ocean smells great, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, kid, it does," Hardcastle replied, his grin matching McCormick's.

And that's how they completed the drive to Malibu: McCormick enjoying life, and Hardcastle enjoying McCormick.

* * *

McCormick followed Hardcastle's pointing finger and folded himself down onto the sofa while the judge carried the bag upstairs. Truth be told, the drive home had worn the young man down just a bit, but there was no way he was going to admit that to Hardcastle. It was already annoying that he still had so little strength; no way he needed to have Hardcastle fussing over him any more than he already was.

As if on cue, a voice carried over the balcony. "You sure you're gonna be up to these stairs, kiddo?" Hardcastle moved away from turning down the bed and leaned over to peer down into the living area. "We could set up a bed down there. Or, you could come set up camp in the den for a while?"

McCormick grinned slightly. They had already had that discussion at least a dozen times, but the judge clearly would've preferred that McCormick not be alone in the gatehouse just yet. "I'll be fine, Judge," he assured the older man. "I'm ready to sleep in my own bed. It's time to start getting things back to normal." It was the same argument that had finally caused Hardcastle to give in originally, and it again brought an end to this particular conversation. But McCormick saw the brief flicker of uncertainty that played across the jurist's expression, and his own eyes became serious. This had gone on long enough; he wouldn't live with this apprehension in his own home.

He took a steadying breath as Hardcastle descended the stairs, then spoke. "You ever planning on tellin' me what's bothering you, Judge?"

Hardcastle's step faltered momentarily, then he continued for the front door. "Don't know what you're talking about, kid. Now you should take a nap before lunch."

"Milt. Please."

The quiet desperation in the voice behind him froze Hardcastle in place. He let his hand fall from the doorknob, and turned slowly, bracing himself for what had to be done.

"I'm thinking it's time to make a change, kiddo. This isn't really working."

The color drained from McCormick's face and his breath caught. He thought he had been prepared for this, though it occurred to him now that had been just another of his insane thoughts. How did you prepare for this?

"Judge...I don't want...I can't..." He took a shaky breath, rose from his seat on the sofa, and made the argument he had already worked out in his head. "Don't put me back inside, Judge, please. I mean, I know I did some things on the case that you weren't thrilled about, but I won't do it again. Can't you give me a chance to fix it?"

"What?" Hardcastle was still surprised anytime he was reminded how fragile McCormick believed his freedom to be. "No. That's not what I meant. You haven't done anything wrong, kiddo."

"Then...why?"

"I'm not sending you back to prison, McCormick," the judge clarified. "Jeez, what were you thinkin'?"

"I was thinkin' you were mad at me," McCormick answered quietly. "For all the jobs."

"I was mad at you," Hardcastle concurred gruffly. "Hell, I _am_ mad at you. Some of that stuff just really wasn't too bright."

"Well, then..." McCormick raised his eyebrows quizzically. "What was I supposed to think?"

"Dammit, McCormick," Hardcastle barked, "I get mad at you all the time. So what? Don't you know by now I would never- - -" He broke off suddenly and clenched his teeth together, glaring at the younger man.

McCormick felt himself relax, and a small smile formed on his face. "Watch out there, Hardcase; you're about to give up all your leverage."

"Ya think?" the judge challenged quietly.

Mark allowed his eyes to meet Hardcastle's. "Nah, probably not," he admitted gently.

That was as close as they were ever likely to get to admitting that the fundamental basis of their relationship had changed, and for a moment, neither man spoke.

Finally, McCormick's confusion reared its head again. "Okay, so if you're not putting me back inside, then what? I thought the deal- -"

"The deal," Hardcastle interrupted, "was for you to be in my custody indefinitely. By definition, that means not for a specified amount of time but until I say it's been long enough. I'm saying it's been long enough. I'll arrange for an officer down at the parole board to take over your case and you can report to them for the rest of your parole."

"But..."

"But what, McCormick? I would've thought you'd be glad to be off the hook. Now you can live your life. Get a real job; get your own place; go back to racing if that's what you want."

McCormick stared at the judge, dumbfounded. Of all the scenarios his imagination had conjured up in the last few weeks, he had never seen this coming. And the real irony of this whole situation was that a year ago—maybe even six months ago—he would've jumped at the deal Hardcastle had just offered. Hell, if he'd been asked six **_minutes_** ago, he probably would've said he wanted to be free from his indentured servitude to good old Hardcase Hardcastle. But he suddenly realized that his answer would've come from habit more than from truth.

Because the truth was he didn't want to leave.

McCormick considered the realization silently. How could he possibly want to stay in the judge's custody rather than live a life of relative freedom? He had been doing just fine on his own for the first six months of his parole, and he could do just fine again. Why would he keep himself here, where he would certainly die an early death—from some sort of exhaustion working out in the yard, or in some insane car chase, or, of course, even from the all too frequent bullet like the one that had recently almost done him in—when he could get an actual job? And Hardcastle was right...he might could even get back into racing; it hadn't really been all that long. But...

And, anyway, what about the judge? Who would be Tonto and watch out for him? If he tried working some of his cases alone, he could get hurt...or worse. McCormick remembered with dreadful clarity the painful hours spent in Garza's office, and tried not to imagine Hardcastle lying bleeding on that floor. But he knew that's what would happen if he weren't around. As much as he hated always being the clay pigeon, he really didn't want the judge using himself as bait. And now Hardcastle was going to send him away? Not if he could help it.

"I don't want that, Judge." The words were spoken so quietly Hardcastle had to strain to make them out.

When the judge didn't answer, McCormick continued, his voice stronger. "I mean...you're still the boss, Judge, so I'll do whatever you say, but I thought we were doing a good thing here. I thought we were doing what you wanted. You had it all planned out, didn't you? Was it supposed to end this way, Judge? Is this part of your retirement plan?"

"Look, kiddo," Hardcastle began, "if you're worried about money, you can stay in the gatehouse until- -"

"No, Hardcastle," McCormick interrupted harshly, "I'm not worried about money." He took a deep breath and allowed himself to say the things that were on his mind. "I'm worried about _you_." He met the judge's eyes and held the gaze.

"Can you promise me you're not gonna try going after any of the creeps in your files by yourself? If so, I won't argue with your decision; I'll just go. Even if...." He made himself say the words. "Even if you're gonna get someone else, I can live with that, I guess. Doesn't mean I'll like it, because—believe it or not—you're actually starting to convince me that what we're doing is important, and I wouldn't mind helping you do it some more. But still...I would go, if that's what you wanted.

"But you can't do this alone. It's dangerous. This last case should sure as hell have proven that. I won't have you working by yourself, Judge; you'll _have_ to put me back in Quentin before I'll let that happen."

_Dammit._ Hardcastle had never been a man comfortable with discussing emotional issues, and McCormick's relative ease at saying the things on his mind—and his heart—had always amazed him. But, if he was going to send him away, the kid probably did deserve an honest explanation. "I can take care of myself, kiddo," he said hoarsely. "It's you I seem to be having some difficulty looking after."

McCormick stared, disbelieving. Another thing he hadn't really seen coming, though all the signs had certainly been there. "Is that what this is about?" He was relieved to discover that he wasn't to blame for Hardcastle's sudden change of direction, but this was insane.

"God, Judge, it wasn't your fault I got hurt, you know. I thought we had settled that."

"Then whose fault is it?" Hardcastle demanded. "I'm the one who brought you here to chase after the bad guys, and I'm the one who sent you into Garza's group. If that doesn't make it my fault, I don't know what does."

"You're crazy," McCormick said flatly. "I'm the one who screwed up. Said too much and made him suspicious, then went back anyway when I sure as hell should've known better. So if either of us is to blame, it's me. But, here's a thought for you, Judge: how about we let Garza take the blame? He _is_ the one who pulled the trigger, after all. I thought that was the whole idea behind your crazy justice crusade, anyway. The people responsible take the blame and pay the price." McCormick knew he had scored with that comment, but he could tell Hardcastle wasn't completely convinced. He continued his argument.

"And anyway, after all this, you're gonna actually let Garza win? The only thing he cared about, Judge, was splitting us up. He _wanted_ you to get rid of me. Now you're gonna let him get away with it? You're gonna let him have that satisfaction?"

McCormick thought he had almost gotten through to the other man, but he could still see the lingering guilt and the overwhelming fear in Hardcastle's eyes. It surprised him, really. Even with all they'd been through together, he never would've expected this level of concern.

He gave an imperceptible shake of his head. "I'm okay, Judge," he said softly. "Really."

"Do you know how close you came to **_not_** being okay, kiddo?" Hardcastle had intended to bark out the question harshly and force the young man to recognize his own mortality. Instead, his voice was filled with desperation, almost pleading for understanding. He turned away quickly, not wanting McCormick to see any more of the raw emotion flashing in his eyes.

After a moment, McCormick crossed to the older man and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know it was close, Judge, but you made sure I was okay." He paused a brief moment, then added, "Just like always." The words gave him an idea for a slightly different approach. He didn't want Hardcastle taking the blame for what had happened with Garza, but it might be okay to give him responsibility for other things.

"If I go, Hardcase," McCormick continued mildly, "who's gonna watch over me then? Who's gonna keep me in line and _out_ of trouble? I don't ever want to go back to prison, Judge, but..."

Hardcastle had the definite feeling he was being manipulated—though he thought the kid meant well—but he still didn't like the unfinished thought McCormick had left hanging in the air. He pulled away from the comforting hand and turned to face his young friend.

"But what, McCormick?"

The ex-con shrugged lazily. "I don't know, Judge. It's just that sometimes I sorta do dumb things, ya know? I mean, even with Garza...I know I made some mistakes. In fact, I think if I hadn't ended up in the hospital, you might have made sure I ended up in a cell somewhere just on general principle."

"I don't know about that," the judge objected with a small smile, beginning to understand where the conversation was leading. "At least you were working for the good guys."

"Yeah," McCormick agreed, "this time."

"You tellin' me you can't behave yourself, kiddo?" It might be fun to know just how much of a line of crap the kid was willing to throw out there.

"Well..." Again the lazy shrug. But McCormick was willing to say just about anything to get things back to normal, especially when all that was needed was an honest admission. "I'm just sayin' sometimes it's good to have some help." He let the words sink in a moment, then went on. "But if we're through here, Judge, I can certainly manage. I was doing okay before you brought me here, I'll do okay again."

"I don't know, kiddo. Seems to me I found you in a courtroom about to head off to Quentin again," Hardcastle reminded him.

McCormick glanced down at his tennis shoes. He should've known Hardcase wouldn't make this easy. "Juuuudge..."

Hardcastle laughed briefly; it was time to let the kid off the hook. And time to make a final decision.

"Are you sure about this, McCormick?" He looked at the young man intently. "Because I really will let you out of the deal, kiddo. And..." the judge hesitated. He breathed deeply before continuing. "And if you were serious about anything you said earlier...I really will retire if that's what it takes to...to keep you safe."

McCormick felt his breath catch again, but not from fear this time. No, not fear. In fact, if he had to put a name on the feeling tightening in his chest right now...

Even in his mind, McCormick backed away from this particular admission. But the word buzzed in his head, refusing to be denied. He tried to tear his eyes away from Hardcastle's gaze, but the same emotion was shining strongly in those pale blue eyes.

McCormick smiled, enjoying the love he felt in this rare moment of candor, and found his voice. "I'm sure, Judge. Somebody has to be the Lone Ranger, and somebody has to be Tonto to keep the ranger's butt out of a sling."

"And somebody has to make sure Tonto doesn't go riding off down the wrong path every now and then," Hardcastle added with a grin.

"Absolutely," McCormick agreed easily.

Hardcastle laughed again as he started back toward the door. "Get your rest, kiddo," he said in his patented gruffly affectionate tone.

Seeing McCormick start to object, he continued quickly. "Don't argue, McCormick. I'm only lettin' you stay over here because you promised to follow the doctor's orders. If you give me any lip, I _will_ make you stay in the den. Or," he added darkly, "I'll have the doc put you back in the hospital."

McCormick held up his hands in surrender. "I'll be good, Hardcase."

"Good. I'll wake you when it's lunch time."

"Hey, Masked Man." McCormick's voice stopped him just before he could step out the door. Hardcastle turned back to face the curly head and twinkling blue eyes.

"I'm glad I'm staying."

Hardcastle smiled, and matched the sincere tone. "Me, too, Tonto. Me, too."

And as he walked toward the main house, Hardcastle finally knew that both he and McCormick were going to be okay after all.


End file.
